


Reprise

by Fovos



Series: Hivefled [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Body Horror, Gorn, Incest, Multi, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 132,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fovos/pseuds/Fovos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee Makara is conscripted, and tries to become a proper adult troll. Things don't exactly go as planned. This is the prelude to the Hivefled universe. (Originally written for the kink meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I am Fovos. This story is torture porn, sure the first 15 chapters might not seem like it, but after those? All bets are off and terrible things happen. This story is what spawned [Hivefled](http://archiveofourown.org/works/582582/chapters/1046167). Neither is required reading for the other. Though I hope you are unsatisfied with my ending and check out Hivefled. I can't force you to do anything.
> 
> This little story is graphic and without spamming tags I can't give you a full warning. The full warnings for this story are: _Noncon, troll incest, dubious use of buckets, general torture including: oral horror, hand mutilation, eye damage, branding, broken/sprained/torn bones and ligaments, body horror in general. Mental/Physical/Sexual/Spiritual abuse, blood-drinking, forced starvation, force-feeding, drug use, slurs, gender issues, forced ageplay, forced petplay, forced genderplay, breakage of nonhuman taboos._
> 
> If you don't want to read all of that, sorry, but know this story doesn't skirt around rape and torture. Don't say I didn't warn you. If you're willing to proceed, please enjoy your stay.

After everything he had been through in his wrigglerhood, he was pretty fucking happy to be standing there. All dark motherfucking indigo. All subjugglator, surviving his conscription. Not to mention he was with one badass mentor. Well, he wouldn’t exactly know, he hadn’t met the troll yet, but if it was gonna be a “special placement” it was assuredly a motherfucking badass who was going to teach him the ropes.

Excitement didn’t disappear as he marched through the halls of the ship. A priest leading him,  something of a decorated mirthmaker, on top of all this priority treatment. Which meant even more pride that would leak from between his horns, and fill him up to full.

Maybe he did have some talent, despite what his friends had said back on Alternia. Though not many of them had joined him for the whole conscription thing, and where his fellow hatchmates were hiding he didn’t know. Better if he didn’t. No gleequsitor could get that knowledge outta him. Some trolls skipped conscription, everyone knew that. They also knew they usually ended up dead. But he wished his hatchmates well, and hoped they didn’t die.

He certainly didn’t want to add to the chance that they might. Instead, he’d stay painfully unaware of them. Maybe one day he could go back to Alternia, maybe in a sweep or three, see them before their life spans dwindled, and say how much he appreciated their friendship throughout.

But now this wasn’t about wrigglerhood, or even hatchmates. This was about a new chapter in his life. And he’d seize it. Fucking grab on and be what he always sought out to be, even when he was a little grub and he’d watch all those day-time shows he probably wasn’t supposed to watch. The ones with the lonely indigobloods, who would up and find happiness in subjuggulator ranks. Usually it was more red then he would have cared for. But that was alright. He was sure he didn’t have to find anything as red, maybe just catch a little more of that friendship miracle and get it twisted up in him. Until he wasn’t all alone up on the ship.

The priest stopped and so did he, keeping his religious respect, making proper. Resting back a couple of paces as the hillaroposer knocked three times on a door. There was the sound of a muffled voice, and being too far back he wasn’t sure what was said. But surely it was something like “Come the motherfuck in.”

It really didn’t matter, because the doors were open and he was faced with a huge troll behind a desk. One who regarded him lazily. One whose uniform was burned into Gamzee’s mind since he decided to get past that whole lonely-indigo-phase and become a subjuggulator. Messiahs be praised, he was one fucking lucky motherfucker to get such an honor.

The hillaroposer bowed before he spoke. “Your grandne–”

“Leave.”

“Uh,” the priest floundered for a moment before he nodded. “Yes, sir.” He took a couple paces back, turned, then quickly marched out the door. Gamzee shrugged; that was all a little weird, but hey, he didn’t know the ways things were here so he couldn’t judge. The doors closed and there was silence.

The adult was looking at him, thinking, noting, and fucking appraising. It would have been uncomfortable if conscription hadn’t already happened, and he had a very long wait where it seemed everyone was getting there see-spheres on him. All of them kept eyeing him up like a wicked treat for their classy tastes. He didn’t know why, he had just waited; you don’t ask questions of adults, and though he was conscripted and an adult, he hadn’t finished his pupating yet.

The silence wasn’t oppressive or weird, just silence. Indigo eyes looked him up and down and settled on the sign on his chest. The massive motherfucker smiled then. Standing up, showing that he wasn’t only built enough to be ridiculous strong, but he was apparently too motherfucking tall. His sponsor was at least two (maybe three, he wasn’t too good at comparing sizes) of him stacked up foot to head. If you counted his horns it would be at least foot to horns.

He spotted the reason for the smile. His symbol was sitting comfortably on his sponsor. Well, he would be one blessed motherfucker. Like the few of his brothers and sisters who believed in ancestors, he got one. He got to meet him too, lucky motherfucker.

“What’s your name?”

“Gamzee, sir.” Seemed up and right to be proper, no matter blood-link or not. The troll made a little face; deciding it wasn’t half bad of a name, he guessed, his blood-link’s thoughts weren’t all out in the open. But he kind of hoped his elder wasn’t all that tore up if the name wasn’t what he imagined for his descendant. Ain’t like he could have controlled it. His lusus all bleated it out back when he was just a little over a grub.

“How old are you?”

“Er, eight sweeps sir.” He shouldn’t have had to think about that too hard, but it wasn’t like he celebrated his wriggling day, he coulda but it would have been a boring party with just him, as all his friends would have been up and pupating, all but the fishy ones. Still, that was much to want from a party before conscription. There was another smile. This one fainter than the first, but it was there.

“You enter into your final cocoon yet?” He shook his head.

“No, sir, I ain’t there yet. Hope that don’t complicate nothing.” The smile grew wider. He couldn’t help but return it.

“That won’t even be a speck of a problem.” That made his smile widen. “I’ll show you to your block.”

“Ain’t I gonna be down with the other recruits?”

The older troll shook his head. So slight, it was hard to even really track the movements. “No, you’re my pupil as far as I’m concerned, you get special privileges.” Well damn if he didn’t just win the metaphorical ticket-draw-for-caegars. Taken in by the high priest who was his ancestor. No doubt. On top of all of that he got to have a block away from everyone else who could up and shove jealous thoughts at him.

He followed the larger troll back beyond the desk, to a seemingly hidden door that just slid away to reveal a pretty comfortable living-quarter. He followed his ancestor back past the relaxing areas, the food areas, getting the smallest of tours before he was given a room; a little empty, but he had crap in his sylladex to make this shell a hive.

“I’ll leave you to set up your room, little one. When you’re done come back to me.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.” The taller troll turned, and left, leaving the younger troll to unpack. His ‘coon, his husktop, other assorted knickknacks to make the room feel more like home. He hadn’t brought all that much, he figured he’d be in the quads with another motherfucker(or two, maybe three). He didn’t want to have too much on him.

The room feeling a lot more like home, he about turned to leave. But, then again, he could take a couple minutes to share his joy with someone who might appreciate it. He hadn’t been on the ship for any count of time to have made any acquaintances, since he’d been separated from the pack early.

He booted up his husktop. His friends, when they ditched conscription, said they wouldn’t be checking their old handles much. But even if it was to nobody now, he could hope they’d check it at some point and get his message.

The whole of everybody was all offline. He figured they had all been settling up their new hives or blocks and had more important shit to do then be sitting online. Eridan and Equius were probably the busiest, he had seen them at conscription. The rest of everyone was a run-off. He wanted to tell his closer brothers.

Maybe they’d see he wasn’t completely and utterly stupid for going to conscription, “cullable sopor addiction” or not. He managed. He bet at least Tavros, if not Karkat, were getting a little worry racking their thinkpans about him. He could let them be up in knowing he was alive too. Not only alive, but alive in motherfucking style.

Though, with all them ran off, he didn’t know if they packed up their computers. He knew maybe one or two of them did, and whoever did probably would check it more often. Which one of these fuckers was the computer-master?

No, it wasn’t her. She spooked him a little. It wasn’t his cat-loving sister either, she was the one who drew him random pictures sometimes. It wasn’t Tavros. Karkat was pretty good with the things, but there was someone who was a real miracle worker.

It wasn’t the scary spider sister, also wasn’t the sister who had a lusus as distant as his. It wasn’t the sister who told him that one day she was going to come over and brush his hair, give him new clothes, and clean him up. He almost had it. He knew it wasn’t the run away heiress, she would be hiding deep underground to avoid the drones looking for her.

That left the yellow one. He didn’t talk to him often. What was his name?

Fuck, it didn’t matter.

> terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]  
>  _twinArmageddons is offline, they will receive this message when they log on._  
>  TC: hEy bRoThEr, iF YoU GeT ThIs mEsSaGe aNd yOu’Re aRoUnD AlL ThE WiCkEd mOtHeRfUcKeRs wE UsEd tO Up aNd tAlK To.  
>  TC: cOuLd yOu aLl tElL ThEm i’M Up aNd mOtHeRfUcKiNg AlIvE. BlOoD-PuShEr sTiLl bEaTiNg aWaY In mY ChEsT.  
>  TC: ThOuGh i hAvE SoMe wIcKeD AwEsOmE NeWs.  
>  TC: I uP aNd mEt My BlOoD lInK. I AiN’t eVeN JoKiNg. sAmE SiGn aNd aLl i gOtTa sAy iT WaS A PrEtTy wIcKeD BrEaK.  
>  TC: lEt mE Up aNd sKiP ThE WhOlE MeD ChEcK, NoT MoThErFuCkInG BaD If i sAy mYsElF  
>  TC: wElL.  
>  TC: If yOu cOuLd jUsT TeLl eVeRyOnE tHaT, I AiN’t eXpEcTiNg a mEsSaGe bAcK. ThOuGh, iF YoU Up aNd dO I’lL Be cHeCkInG.  
>  TC: sEnDiNg My bEsT MoThErFuCkInG WiShEs bRoThEr :o)  
>   
>      terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling twinArmageddons [TA]

He took a little longer to walk back; not too long. That would make a motherfucker get upset with him, thinking he might spend too long getting his comfort ready for later. He didn’t know adult protocol and he wasn’t about to chance it. Still, he took a look around and was generally quite happy with all of it.

He had to keep reminding himself not to take too long. He still really didn’t want to be killed, and it would be some twisted shit if he up and messaged that he was all good then got knocked down to the not-good group.

He walked back through the sliding door and almost wanted to bite his lip. He had no idea what to motherfucking do, which now seemed like a stupid mistake. Instead of worrying over it and getting his horns twisted up about it, he did what he always did in situations like this. Whatever felt right.

He walked over to the other side of the desk and sat down on one of the chairs, not into interrupting any troll who seemed that into whatever they were doing. Time passed; he wasn’t sure how much, he was too busy amusing himself with his sylladex. Though he could feel a wicked headache coming on.

He knew this would happen. He had been warned by every brother and sister he had back on Alternia. When he quit sopor he’d probably get massive headaches, if he survived at all. He didn’t really want to quit, but there wasn’t any other option; that kind of shit would get you killed and he sort of wanted to stay in the alive group of trolls.

“Come here.” For such a big troll, his voice was surprisingly soft. Or could be, he was sure that it wasn’t always that way. He stood up, putting his sylladex away and walking over to the desk. “Closer.” There was something in the way it was said that wasn’t as soft as the other order. Was it really an order? Maybe it was just a helpful suggestion.


	2. Chapter 2

He rounded the desk and stood awkwardly. He’d say nervous from the bite in his gut. But that was probably just that wriggler fear of adults talking to him from instinct. Shit would be divided and splattered all over, if a adult met a wriggler. And wriggler he was not.  
  
The chair almost creaked when it spun, obviously it usually wasn’t doing that. And he had a hard time raising his eyes to the troll that was still a good reach above his height. He didn’t know what it was, if it was the wriggler fear or if it was some other feeling entirely. He couldn’t get too spun up over it. He just had to.

There was a finger sliding under his chin. Soft, gentle, everything he was trained adults weren’t. It lifted his chin enough that, even though he tried to avert his see-spheres, he still made look-contact. Instead he fought the urge to swallow and brought his eyes back to the indigo of his sponsor-ancestor-high-priest-boss. Damn, he was gonna have to find out what to call him.

There was another stretch of silence. It fluttered over the room like a bird, and just settled preening between them. The finger under his chin didn’t waver, instead a thumb was brought over his the paintless part of his cheek.

The silence shoved feathers down his throat like he was its sylladex. He tried to swallow them down but his mouth and tongue refused, too dry to account for anything. Blood-pusher picking up its rhythm like it could drum out the feathers and get them out from the hive they were creating half-way down his gullet.

He tried to not show the sudden discomfort that came in like the tide. He didn’t want to offend, instead he just watched back, taking in lines of paint, indigo eyes, and all that appraising behavior and chalked it up to a curiosity. That’s what this was. A curiosity.

It had to be pretty damn rare that one motherfucking troll meets another troll that has a blood-link. Even with high-bloods. Unless you were the empress; she up and met all her descendants at some point. Even if it was for however long the battle lasted.  
  
The thumb-pad stroking his cheek was sending fear straight up from his gut to his head. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t. Nothing bad was happening. Just another sight-review, but from a troll he had some respect for. He couldn’t be wrigglerish about this.

“Who would have thought you’d turn out so cute?” The voice was low, low enough he nearly had to lean closer to actually hear him. He didn’t know how to take that compliment. It was a compliment, right? Usually cute was meant as a compliment. Damn, he was over-thinking things. It didn’t help that headache had elbowed its way in and made it hurt to focus his look-spheres on any motherfucking thing.

“Just because you get some special privileges doesn’t mean you get to slack.” He nodded, unconsciously leaning closer to make out each word. He realized he was pretty damn close. Most times this would be too damn close.

“If you slack, you get hurt. I would go more into how, but that would depend. Though I’m sure you can imagine, little one. Do you understand?” He didn’t know if that was a question. Or one of those statements that thinks it’s a question, but it really isn’t one, and one is left wondering on it for some time. He decided it was a question, and after another dry swallow, spoke.

“Yes, sir.” His voice wasn’t working with him. Must have been that fucking bird metaphor. He really shouldn’t use shit like that when it was too uncomfortably true _._

“Well, as long as it’s understood. Then we should have no problems. Come little one, let’s feed you, you’re nearly skin and bones.” And like that, the hand was off of him, the fear was gone, and he could feel his shoulders inch down. He hadn’t even realized they had crept up towards his ears, like they were getting their friendship on.

The older troll stood and he stepped to the side, thigh pressing into the desk just to make sure he was all out of the way. He really didn’t want to imagine getting hurt. Let alone actually having it happen. But it could always be down and worse. _  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Food was brought on call. Apparently, making good and not slacking got you privileges. He’d have to remember that when he got into the actual ranks. He sat awkwardly at the table, claws twitching nervously on his thighs; he couldn’t get them to stop. He felt like something was crawling under his skin.

His stomach protested violently at the thought of food, and that weight was back in his maw with the loud screams of anguish he was getting from his stomach. His elder had disappeared for the moment. Instead he was left waiting. Claws twitching to scratch at his skin, he swore he saw something move out of the corner of his vision.

His blood-pusher hadn’t stopped its frantic rhythm, and he just wished his body would calm down and let him just take in this situation for what it was. Sure, it was a little odd. But trolls could catch a break. And despite the ranks of subjugglators being pretty violent when warranted, there wasn’t a group in the whole race that wasn’t violent in the right flow.

His elder reappeared and set food down for him. He took up a seat across the table and nodded at him before he dug into his food. Looking down on the plate made his stomach nearly cramp up into working in reverse. He wasn’t sure the last time he ate anything that wasn’t a pie. And that’s what sounded fucking good right now.

Still, he’d make polite and he moved his hand to the utensils and he only could notice how much his hand was shaking. It wouldn’t stop despite his efforts. Still, with a shaking hand he picked up the utensil and managed the smallest bite of food that didn’t look like anything was off.

He brought it to his mouth with a difficulty he wasn’t aware using utensils had before. He still managed to bite into the meat and haphazardly chew before swallowing despite the agony his stomach was forcing on his mind, which was just making the headache worse. It tasted bitter, good but wrong, but still he managed to summon enough politeness in him to keep eating.

After about six bites, his headache started to ebb and he nearly cheered in relief. The headache was probably from the fact he couldn’t remember when he last got food in his mouth. Without the slime suppressing anything, he was probably starving. Sure, the headache was still there but it was a pretty peaceful motherfucker in the back of his head which just dully sat back there and waved when he moved his neck wrong. Nothing that a good sleep couldn’t fix.

“You.” The voice was so sudden he jumped despite his best effort to stay planted. “Feeling alright?”

“Yeah.” He nodded like it would help prove he was. “Just been a long day.” A nod and no more words. Words got in the way of eating. After a few more bites his stomach shut up too, starvation linking the both, and he settled in to finish his meal, feeling better and quite proud of himself for cleaning his plate despite his earlier trouble. He felt better than he had before the food, less sleepy but with a better chance to sleep. His hands weren’t shaking as much and he felt like he was back to the right temperature. His stomach still felt a little hollow and empty, but he was probably still hungry. Slime kept his food need down, and now, without it, all of the need was all coming back to him.

“Tomorrow, we will start.” He looked up at his elder and nodded. “For now, rest, get your head screwed properly on your neck. So we don’t have any difficulties.”

“Yes, sir.” He stood and felt a fidget run through his body. He ignored it. “I guess sleep well, sir.”

“One moment.” He stopped mid-step, turning back to his ancestor. The larger troll stood, and in a step he was over to him, a hand on his shoulder that could curve part way round his arm. It felt heavy there, but not bad. “Feel better.”

“I will, sir.” He cracked a smile, if only to show his own nervousness it was being a stupid motherfucker. The hand gone, he nodded once more before taking off down to his ‘coon. His room felt more comfortable this time. He stripped as soon as the door slid closed. He’d get sleep, feel better, and carry on tomorrow _._


	4. Chapter 4

There was something sharp that woke him. Not enough to make him open his eyes, he was groggy, his body not responding to commands. There was a sting on the side of his neck. Probably from whatever the sharp was. But it seemed it passed; maybe he was just craning his neck stupid. He tried to shift, his limbs fighting movement and trying to pull him back to sleep.

The slime inside the ‘coon moved and that woke him up more. He hadn’t moved, unless he was so messed up from sleep that it got him all motherfucking confused. There was weight on his neck, then down his shoulders, and as far down his chest as his thighs would allow with how he curled.

The touch, was it even a touch? It was probably a dream or something. Something in him screamed he was an idiot, it sounded surprisingly like Karkat. This wasn’t a dream, but it felt like one; he felt limbless, just floating, it was dark. Like he had been sent to the warmest part of space to just relax and get his rest on.

A pressure on his arm, and he tried to move it, it gave. Floating in the slime, pressure helping it be held up. Another prick of pain, nothing massive, just a little annoyance. The pressure lasted for a few breaths, then it faded. He was left alone in his ‘coon, drifting somewhere between sleep and wake.

Still floating in space. If something had bitten him the sopor would erase the evidence by morning. He’d have to check around make sure no bugs followed him in. It was probably just a simple dream. A new place to sleep was always met with fear. He didn’t know the noises, the area, or if it was friendly. His mind was just playing tricks on him.

Slowly sleep faded in as relaxation took hold. He was nearly there when the pressure was back on his shoulder, another small pain, and he felt something warm, almost burning under the skin. It roused him more, but the relaxation was way too much.

He didn’t need to fight this right now, he was still alive, and he felt great. He could deal with it later


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next couple of days, he had created a routine for himself. He’d get up, scrape the slime, and shower. Get dressed and his face put on. He’d go back to his block and check his husktop for any messages. He hadn’t gotten one yet, but running away from conscription was probably a massively difficult thing to do.

Then he’d walk out to get his food on, by then he was usually starving. His stomach protesting and head telling him he needed to eat. He’d eat, feel better and he’d start on whatever the lesson was, though they did never seem to get all that far. Sometimes he’d be given a book to read, or things to learn, but that didn’t seem to be the focus. What the focus was he couldn’t have said.

Lunch would be delivered, they’d eat, and get back on to whatever they had been doing before. At some point he’d be told he could go back into their block and study whatever, and his ancestor would work. After a few hours, they’d sit down, eat dinner, and talk. Then once food had been made into a memory they’d move and get their relax on. Watch a movie, or a show, or whatever. Then they’d head off to ‘coon.

It was strange, even he had to admit it was strange. But it was a welcome fucking change from being alone on Alternia. His ancestor didn’t mind most of his questions or comments. He’d usually give him an answer or shoot out a comment of his own.

Nervousness slowly left, but left an aching reminder deep in some soon-to-be forgotten part of his stomach. Still he couldn’t shake a feeling, like something was twisting inside him, something told him to run. No matter the time it didn’t seem to pass. Just his body reminding him he was once a wriggler.

It was another day, another morning; showering, dressing, painting, trying to ignore the headache that was slamming around his thought-tray like some part of it was running away from being culled. Another morning of no new messages. Tonight, he should message them again. Maybe just message Karkat’s computer. He’d message Tavros’s but he was sure his brother didn’t take his computer.

Who actually knew, other than them. They could have been dead actually. He didn’t like to believe that, and he still firmly believed that through a miracle they’d survive. And before too many sweeps passed he’d go back to Alternia and he’d see them, they they’d all hug and sit and be friendly if even for a breath of a moment.

The headache was miserable, it made his horns ache, and he half wondered if they were growing again. Stumbling out to the dining block he found a seat and breakfast and silent conversations that seemed to happen when he wasn’t paying attention. Just catching the briefest of hints when his eyes would lock with his elders’. Food finished and dishes moved to the trap that returned them to where ever the fuck the cook-quad was on the ship.

He followed a few paces behind the older troll, and prepared his clearing mind for today’s lesson. At first there was a simple talk, about what he learned the night before. Not being one for learning much, this had been the most righteous of changes.

He spoke briefly about what he had read the night before, which were principles of the most mirthful of laws. He was pretty sure tonight he’d have to read up on the most distressed laws. Which, without a solid base on Alternia, were frying his thinkpan with the ways the church was supposed to all act.

But it was where this was at and he would have to come to some terms some miracles needed to be shown so he could all miracle more among the most blessed of brothers and sisters. He fought to remember laws he hardly had lodged in his mind before he filled his violent stomach, when his head was once again pounding something wicked.

He was presently trying to call back the hundredth law of mirth and it was escaping him. Considering he’d remembered each so far he considered it a blessing he even got so far with all the laws as he had only read them once.

“If you can’t remember, come here. I’ll show you.” A book was produced and placed down on the desk.

He stood, and tried to ignore the brief moment of dizziness as his head buzzed with pain and a ever present need. He wanted but he wouldn’t. He got conscripted, he was going to be a clean motherfucker. He made his way through that float, blood soaring to his head and blood-pusher pounding in his ears, to the other side of the desk. The elder troll scooted back so he could claim a spot all in front of him and at the book. Flipping through pages, words looking fuzzy to him.

He looked for the law and felt a weight on his hand. It guided his hand down the list of blurry words and numbers that he couldn’t seem to manage to make any sense of. His hand paused with urging from the hand on top of his.

“There.” The hand didn’t move away, all cool-heat and strangeness, making his throat get clogged with something that made it impossible to talk again. Not that it was something he needed to do with him. He just had to get his stare-spheres into comprehending the words on the page instead of the strange jumping thing they were doing.

“You alright, little one?” He nodded. Not trusting for his voice to come out his mouth, or even get from him. The other hand was pressed against his forehead, and suddenly a tide of fear rushed through him; it left crashing out like a wave, leaving the reminder of foam behind.

The hand moved off his forehead back to his hair, finger-pads and talons gently pressing on his head. It made the headache throb and dull, and throb and dull, until he was confused enough by the sensation to just give up on understanding its methods. Fingertips pressing against his head, around his horns, making him almost immediately relax as the headache dulled once more. One hand on his head, the other seemed to have moved up to his wrist.

“Now recite.” It was even harder with the fingers curled up with his hair and sore thinkpan, the words looked even more foreign. But he fought through, and after clearing his throat one too many times he recited the law. “Keep going.” The voice was closer, still low, and there was something. Something there that made his food-holder shrivel and run off in the same direction his voice went.

Another excessive clearing of the throat later, he read down the list of laws, fingers still pressing against his head making him waver from sensations of blood flow being redirected around his thinkpan. His voice was getting softer and softer, unable to concentrate on both at once. His voice broke as pain racked through his neck like something had buried itself deep inside.

And upon further thinking, it had. He could feel the trickle of blood from a wound. He hissed as the burning spread out through the base of his skull to where shoulders met up with the neck muscles like twisted-up lovers. Though right now they were both getting a light coat of blood for some strange reason.

Breath hit the blood as his ancestor was closer, hands nearly wrapped him up in a cage of troll he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in, and really in all his sight he didn’t have an escape. That made panic froth in him like something wild.

“What did I say about slacking?” That wasn’t a question, though it sounded like it. At least he was almost totally sure. Still he nodded, unsure if his voice would work any more. His head was once again throbbing with pain, and the itch at the back of his neck didn’t help. Then, like that both hands were off of him.

“Now, let’s get something in you, maybe you’ll manage to concentrate better.” The line was delivered with something he didn’t understand, and probably wouldn’t ever if the state he was in continued. But he had a right, he had been warned. So it wasn’t so bad, plus the injury didn’t hurt any more, more like a little cut you get when you hit furniture wrong.

He wouldn’t slack again, simple as that. Maybe he’d make sure to snack or something if it was nutrition his body was needing. He was a pretty dumb wriggler to be skipping so much food, that it was affecting him so bad now. He’d correct it. Simple as that.

Food was produced, and despite his lack of knowing adult foods they all seemed to have a similar taste. Slightly bitter. Not that he minded, he had sweets to take the edge off, but it was a strange mixture with such bitter metallic food.

His elder’s hand was at the back of his neck again, this time with something cold in his grasp. He refrained from jumping as he realized the wound was getting cleaned up. See, not so bad. He didn’t know why he was justifying this to himself.

His blood-link wasn’t a bad troll by default. Wasn’t a bad troll because he was an adult. That was something stupid lusii tell their wrigglers so they don’t grow up too fast. Simple. As. That. Anyway, other than today, in the whole five days he knew him, the motherfucker hadn’t harmed him until now. Just like he said he would if he slacked. So, he had no reason, or right to judge he troll with any harshities that weren’t warranted. And it wasn’t.

They ate in relative silence. His head-pounding from the headache and pain faded and now he felt like he could concentrate more. He felt stupid over his earlier mistake, he had managed to get most of them out and then he ran into a problem because of his learn-trap’s short comings. After food was eaten his ancestor beckoned him to stand.

“You sure you’re feeling well?” The words were spoken once he had stood.  
  
“Yeah, it’s just my thinkpan keeps aching something awful. I think it’s because I had a fucked up diet when I was on Alternia.”

He raised an eyebrow that more or less meant continue. But he wasn’t going to respond. He didn’t want to bring all that up. They hadn’t talked about Alternia, and he really wasn’t looking forward to flapping his gaps about that.

“Are you sure it isn’t Decomtitude?” He had to fight cocking his head in confusion. He had no idea what that was. “It’s a space sickness, when you come from a planet to space travel the artificial gravity can mess with the ASC.” He nodded. “It comes with headaches, a loss of balance, difficulty breathing, fatigue.” A hand raised again and slid along the front part of his neck. Pressing with one finger against the skin, feeling for a rate-of-pumps. “Sped up heart rate.”

“Nah, I’m usually pretty okay, until I get hungry. I up and didn’t eat often before. Now I am, so my whole body is getting used to the being all full of food.”

“Entertain me, little one, why did you have such a poor diet?”

“Well, my lusus, he wasn’t around much. So I didn’t eat much when I was just past being a wriggler. I ain’t never had a good diet. Just kind of stuck around when I could go out and get my own. I was used to not eating.” He was not about to get any type of informing on about his pies. He had a few too many warnings from everyone about how they were going to react on conscription about his pies.

“Are you lying to me?” It wasn’t a full-out lie. His lusus didn’t get him food, or show him how to make it; he scavenged for a long time until he learned himself how it went. He taught himself to cook, and bake, and do a lot of other shit that his lusus should have done. He shook his head; no he wasn’t lying, just not being full in honesty with his sponsor.

A hand moved from his throat and grabbed his shoulder. Pulling him closer, all the way back to a place to sit. He took the seat on the couch gratefully, nervous for why they were both sitting talking about shit he didn’t think he should be talking about. His elder sat beside him, closer now.

“You know you can be honest with me, little one.”

He up and quit the slime. He had been good, but he still didn’t want to talk about it. Too much luck could turn into a lotta bad luck like it had with the spider sister. He didn’t feel like getting hurt again. But the look he was being given, there seemed to be honest acceptance there. It could be right to flap about it, but he had so many warnings from his friends.

_What felt right?_ he asked himself.

“Before I say anything, I want you to know I already took care of it sir, it ain’t here no more. But I used to be motherfucking alone most the time and I got hungry once, real hungry, and I decided that I’d try the stuff I motherfucking slept in. I baked it like they do on those shows, nearly burnt down my hive. But after that it became a source of food. Really the only motherfucking source of food I had with any often. It apparently messes up a thinkpan nice and good, before conscription I promised myself I’d stop. So I did. So all the hunger I think I pushed away from the slime is coming back to up and shaking me.”

Now he felt awkward, he had settled his fingers together on his lap and said everything looking down at them. Yeah, that was probably really motherfucking dumb of him. He risked a look without moving his head, and he could see something snap into place. Panic bubbled in his throat. Shit, this was where his luck ran out wasn’t it.


	6. Chapter 6

“Don’t do it again.” His elder’s voice was just as soft, no visible signs of any anger. Hey, maybe his friends had been wrong. Either that or the fact he quit probably was in the help.

“I won’t, sir.” Back to lessons, and no another word was spoken about the past need he used to have. It wasn’t like it was really there any more. It was always there, but not really there. Away enough he could ignore it.

Lessons preceded and he left to study again, tearing through the other set of laws, as fast as he could without forgetting nothing. Before the headache set in and he started to get all protesting of his internal organs’ placement inside of him.

Another meal by the time his head was pounding. Conversations less silent about just what his ancestor did, and words didn’t dodge between them about anything other than any question presented and the topics of conversation. No hoisting him down to the meds, no force checks, no culling.

After dinner, relaxing as they always did, he decided. There wouldn’t be any more nervous. That made relief wash over him like a welcome rainstorm in light season. No more worry here. He’d be fine, if the slime didn’t make bad come to happen, then bad wasn’t going to spring up.

He nearly passed out on the couch before he was prodded in the arm and told to go to ‘coon. He decided in a half-asleep haze he really didn’t have anything to tell his rebel friends. Instead he’d sleep, and when they messaged him he’d see about having a chat.

Stripped down once more, he crawled into ‘coon and fell asleep easily. Dreams of floating through warm space and just being surrounded by peace, his head not aching, body not feeling like something was occasional crawling under his hide and laying eggs.

Actual peace. It probably helped there was no fear anymore.

In the morning his head felt familiar. Like it belonged on his shoulders, his headache a thing of the past. He must have kicked into the final leg of his nutrient-lack from his early life. It was easier to shower, dress, and paint his face without the pain. His body still yearned for food but that was alright, breakfast would be soon.

His stomach was not introducing itself to the ground with the thought of sitting down to eat. Instead he welcomed the food quite hardily, though still with all the polite he had in him. His elder was still something of reverence among all callers of the mirthful two.

There were no days off for his elder, so he wouldn’t enjoy the reprieve either. Instead he worked straight through. By the end of the rest-day, he stood in front of his ancestor after his work was finished and asked to recite a series of laws. His thinkpan happily brimmed with knowledge. True and pure knowledge from the highest of all motherfucking sources.

“That should be all of the ones you asked, right? Or am I missing one from all the numbers slung my way?” His elder was smiling. He had to have gotten them all.

“Come.” He took the few steps around the desk. Fingers messed up his already unruly hair, before moving back to his back, giving him a congratulatory pat. “You can be a smart little fuck when you try.” There was another pat, though this was more like a slide as fingers bridged and then the palm resolved to land where his shoulder blades met around his spine.

He smiled at his elder, good enough for praise was good enough for him. The hand was slow to move off him. Silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, there seemed to be a series of silent words spoken his way, but he hadn’t quite figured out that yet. But they didn’t seem menacing; more proud if all was to be believed.

The hand moved from his back, to his shoulder, down his arm, and the around his wrist, pulling him a bit closer. “Let’s keep this smartness around.” He nodded. Sill smiling a little. No doubt he was shattering his own ideas about himself. Not to mention the kind of strange shit his friends would think if he told them about much of anything. Especially all the comments he just got that he could show some intelligence, when most of them seemed pretty sure his thinkpan rotted through sweeps ago.

His elder dropped his wrist - well, most of his forearm - and shooed him off with another assignment. He took it happily and retreated back to their private common block and studied. His mind seemed hazy, but he felt right. No headaches all day, just a want for food, and a need to get that kind of pride back on his space.

He never had anybody he could say that had any or even bits of pride in him. It felt nice, being recognized for what he knew was in him since he was creeping around the brooding caverns. He had a lot of heart, he could always say that. But to be recognized for something he had wanted for sweeps. That was something this motherfucker could get used to.

He read through the information, occasionally getting locked up in oppressive silence and he’d start humming to himself just to block it out. He wasn’t one for silence really. He’d started to get comfortable with it, but he liked something in the back. Silence just seemed to make concentrating harder.

Silence made his head buzz with thoughts he didn’t want to have. If he just sat there even reading through things, suddenly he’d wonder if Tavros had been killed. He’d get a horrible image and he’d have to fight breaking down in worry or sadness.

But even with all this, all this learning, fighting, and wanting, he could get used to being an adult.


	7. Chapter 7

It turned into over a week that he’d been there. For the first time he was getting a day off, or a partial day off. Apparently, so was his sponsor. That had been the announcement at breakfast. A moment of break from figuring out the next planet to devastate, and to listen to the Condescension. Today was the day the Empress would make her Senniel statements to the fleets. He’d never heard the Empress’s voice before.

Both of them had sat on the couch after a too-filling meal, and were aimlessly meandering through channels and movies, waiting for when mindless programming would be interrupted with her voice. It had to be the most relaxing thing he had ever had, both trolls laughing over cullable idiots, both of them adding their own comments, and making jokes.

Somewhere, between watching a troll accidentally cull himself and the another troll talking about it, the room shifted into warmth and went dark. It was calm, and he tried to figure out what happened. Had the power gone out? Or had something gone wrong?

Then he swore he could hear screaming. Something had latched onto his shirt and yanked him back. And he fell, fell back into darkness. Darkness that flashed colors and images he really didn’t want to see.

There was something next to him. Something that was reaching a skeletal hand into his hair, yanking him deeper. They hit the nearly pitch ground, sudden flashes of the other skeletal beings with different hues of blood flashing around the edges of his vision.

“Run,” the one holding him said distantly, blood bubbling out its mouth and down the front of a seriously blood-stained shirt. Blood-pusher pounding as he wrenched away from the monstrosity. He ran, which direction he didn’t know, he just ran. Trolls in various states of decay trying to grab him, trying to pull him back to that room, that room where they were going to tear him up.

Another whispered voice told him to get away. He stumbled and fell, decay creeping up to him. He swore he could smell it, taste the rot in his mouth, he could feel their hands on him, and he just scooted away. Backing up against a wall. There were way too many to outrun. Though they kept telling him to get up and run, he just couldn’t.

A hand curled in his hair and he swore it was trying to pull him back through the wall. Decaying bodies too close to properly breathe. He couldn’t even hear his blood pumper over short uneven breaths. He tried to calm himself. He could get out, if he calmed down. He could get out. Hands, too many hands, held onto him and dragged away. Dragged through more darkness. Something cut into his stomach and he nearly screamed.

Instead it ended being muffled by a gag as his eyes opened. Curled into a tight ball on a couch in a well lit room.

“That is why we do what we do. We are stronger, far more able than the other filth that rot our universe.” That was the Empress, and there were hands cradling him, holding him against the unmovable body of his ancestor. His breathing was being managed, calming down.

He’d fallen asleep outside his ‘coon before. But it was when he was still taking sopor. He never had a nightmare, not like the other trolls told them they’d have if they did. That’s what they were talking about. He hadn’t done sopor in over a week now, and so he got the nightmares. It was enough he was half tempted to eat, just a little, every day so if he fell asleep there wouldn’t be another one.

He looked up to his ancestor and saw the briefest smirk. No doubt the Empress said something pleasing. He must have scooted over in his nightmare, to be close to something, someone maybe. He moved his hand where it was coiled in fabric. His ancestor said nothing about either action. Him twisting his fingers in his elder’s clothes, or the fact that he had been trying to comfort him.

He had the troll all wrong. Deep down he was a pretty nice motherfucker. That made him smile a bit, as he fought to push the nightmare away. Get it gone from rolling around inside of him. His ancestor’s hand didn’t move from holding him nearly on his lap, a finger was dragging along the small of his back. Calming, soothing, and somewhere where the memory of the nightmare didn’t haunt him. He smiled.

He looked to the show, where there was a picture of the Empress and she was still speaking. He ignored the hive-mind-nightmare that plagued him. Instead he focused on her voice and the hand that hadn’t moved from his back.

After the speech, which was directed at trolls like him - the recently conscripted, the ones who were new to space and conquest - his ancestor didn’t demand he move, instead he shifted and shut off the box. There was no sigh, growl, or groan of annoyance. Instead their eyes just met.

“You fucked up your face.” He fought the urge to blush, or hide the smeared paint away. He always felt so naked without his paint. To be in that kind of disrepair with his ancestor really wasn’t up and happy for him. More mortifying if he ever thought too deep into it.

“Sorry sir.”

“Come up here.” He shifted out of hands and arms, and sat up, scooting as close as he could without climbing onto the lap of the older troll. Hands leveled themselves on his sides, making him bite his lip from the sudden way-too-sensitive feeling. He really didn’t need to start laughing.

His elder set him down on his lap, then gathered a cloth from his sylladex. The touch was soft, and other than the cloth being a little rough, the paint came off without any hard scrubbing.

He closed his eyes against the motion, a hand on his back gave him a place to lean against as he relaxed. Legs shifting to either side of him, bent back in a way most would say looked uncomfortable, but it was all fine to him.

He tried not to blush at all when his face was completely cleaned off. His ancestor looked at the lines of his face without paint for the first time. The hand on his back once again moved to petting him softly, and he was sure if he was a meowbeast he would be purring. No one ever showed him this kind of care before.

The cloth was put away and paint pulled out. No brush, instead fingers dipped into the paint and slid along his nose. He closed his eyes once more, his ancestor’s fingers sliding along his face.

His look-spheres stayed locked until the fingers finished, and slowly he let them open, looking up to the older troll. The hand on his back still moved just slightly. There was a smirk on his elder’s face and he returned a smile.

“Now you look better, little clown.”

“Thanks.” His ancestor shifted his hand and stood, easily holding him up. There was a brief moment of fear as his feet were quite a distance from the floor.

“You’re so small,” his elder said. “It’d be a shame if I dropped you.” With that, he let his grip lessen to nonexistent. He couldn’t help the yelp as his body began to fall, before he was grabbed again, and gravity was no longer pulling him to the floor. “I bet I’d break something if I did. So small and fragile.”

“Don’t fucking tease me like that. I didn’t ask for you to–” Another soft yelp as weightlessness claimed him again, before he was scooped back up. “Motherfucker… pick me up. Why did you pick me up?”

“To see if I could.”

“Well, duh, you’re fucking huge.” There was a smirk. “Will you let me down?”

“Why?” Another change in altitude, and then it came slamming back again.

“Because I seriously fucking think you’re going to motherfucking drop me.”

“I wonder, can you catch yourself?” This change in altitude didn’t stop suddenly. Instead his feet found the ground, his ankles and knees burning from landing awkwardly on them, his stomach still reeling from the sudden change. “You actually can.”

“That wasn’t motherfucking nice.”

“Consider it training.” He fought the urge to shake his head and march off, but his legs were still stinging from how he landed, and he could feel it spreading to his feet. Making them uncomfortable to stand on, with pins and needles shooting up his legs. He just wanted to sit down. He didn’t. He couldn’t, he was sure if he moved his feet would hurt worse. “Come on, day-off is over, let’s get you back on track.”

Again his body fought gravity as he was hoisted up by the back of his shirt. He was taken to the table, he was set on the top of it. A book was in his hands a moment after. Sniffer back to the grindstone of work, being a subjugglator involved so much reading. He was sure his thinkpan was going to fry over it.

His ancestor told him what he’d have to study, and told him to stay right there. He opened the book, flipping to the pages he was supposed to read, and he settled on the table to read them. His ancestor vanished and he read through the more boring parts of law. Not church laws, these were empire laws, and generally a lot more boring. Mostly about blood and keeping the blood peace.

He still couldn’t even bring himself to make good and care about colors and their meanings. He’d had friends from all over, and all of them treated him the same regardless of color. He treated them the same too. The empire should someday hear of that success story. The warmer-bloods weren’t any stupider then the colder-bloods. Not any more weak. They just didn’t get to live as long. Which was more sad than anger inspiring.

He finished the passages. His ancestor was back sitting at his spot at the table reading something, but shooting him the occasional look. His head was starting to tell him he needed to eat again, and he certainly hoped he didn’t have a test right now. He knew he’d fuck it up more than get it right.

He closed the book and set it beside him softly, hoping to not disturb the concentration of the older troll. He looked down at his hands, willing to pull out his sylladex and amuse himself until he was regarded. Instead, something hit him in the head and face and dangled off his horns, obscuring most of his sight-field.

He reached a hand up and pulled the fabric off his head. His elder laughed and all he could respond with was a shake of the head. His ancestor might have been an adult but he seemed more like a kid who still liked playing tricks. Well, then, that was alright. He wasn’t the most mature motherfucker either. He smiled despite himself, he did kind of walk into that.

“Get changed.” He nodded and scooted off the table. His ancestor’s eyes were off what he was doing, and he could feel them follow him until he rounded the hall and vanished behind the wall, making his way back to his room. He took off the clothes he had from back on Alternia, the ones he had always had. He looked at the new clothes he had gotten.

The ones that sealed in his job. The ones that announced him as an adult. He changed and took a look at himself in the reflector wall. There was a smile on his lips. All up and proper being a subjugglator now.

He pulled some fingers through his knotted hair, before sliding his hand down to the symbol on his chest. The one he wore his whole life seemed to have a lot more meaning now. He didn’t hide his smile for a moment, before he let himself serious up. He stood as tall as he could manage and left his block.

Finally, motherfucking fit to be what he always was, all along.


	8. Chapter 8

As days passed, he realized that he might not have a lusus, but he had a wicked cool ancestor. Who was around more than his lusus ever was. At first it was weird, but he got comfortable with it. He’d lean on his ancestor, he started not minding being picked up and moved around like he was a doll.

It wasn’t that weird ultimately, ancestors don’t get to meet their descendants. No doubt there wouldn’t be many logs for this sort of thing. So it wasn’t weird, his ancestor just liked his company. He was getting onto understanding the full of both church laws and the empire’s laws, and every single success he had, he would be praised again. He wasn’t as stupid as everyone thought.

Even though he managed, his ancestor told him there was room for improvement. He couldn’t just settle on enough like he had his whole life. It had helped that for the past few mornings he woke up, his head fit right on him. Not too big or too small. Just fitting on his shoulders, and sometimes he would catch himself slipping back into bad habits, like zoning out, but he’d stop himself.

“You ready to start training?” He nodded, just after breakfast, and ready for whatever. “Now that you finally have a handle on the basics, we’ll move up to something I’ve been neglecting with you.” He nodded again, and stood when his elder motioned for him to do so. “Now, we’ll strife. I don’t mean to hurt you but you have to learn.”

“I understand. Fighting is all kinds of wicked important, sir.”

“Now come.”

It wasn’t so much strifing, he found out after a moment or two. More he learned the proper way to hold his weapons. His ancestor quick to correct his posture or hand placement. Moving it back, or up, or down. To get him able to strife effectively.

“Unarm.” his ancestor said, and he put the clubs back. “Engage.” He took his clubs and got himself ready. “Advance.” And he followed the command. “Graze.” He swung at an invisible enemy. “Beat.” The commands continued, and he could feel not only his arms but his legs tiring from the amount of repetition. His breath came out in short puffs from exertion.

“Do you yield?” His elder asked. He couldn’t. That would, no doubt, turn out badly.

“Fuck no.”

“Feint.” He followed the motion and his foot slid. “Stop. Unarm.” He did, still breathing hard, glad for the break if anything. But why would he have to stop now? His ancestor’s hand grabbed his hair and yanked him forward. He hissed in pain, but relaxed against the motion.

“Yes sir?” he asked, his voice soft, softer then he wanted it to be.

“Are you going to keep fucking up?” There was a snarl in his voice, and a mostly forgotten fear flared in Gamzee’s stomach.

“N-No, sir.”

“Good. Now get back and engage. This time don’t disappoint me.” He nodded. Dammit, he had been doing so well too, he shouldn’t slack. Give his all, all the time. He took a deep breath walked back a couple of paces and rearmed himself. Again commands were shouted at him, his body reacting to them as fast as possible, minding his feet, his arms, his breathing. He swore his head was getting too small for his thinkpan.

What time was it?

He couldn’t get hungry now. He couldn’t deal with that break in his concentration. He held steady, his head moving from throbbing to an incessant stabbing somewhere behind his ears. He growled at the pain, hoping it would just go away.

“You getting hungry, little one?”

“If we ain’t done then I won’t motherfucking be.”

“Don’t deny your body its wants. But if you want to keep going, I’m sure I could figure out some way for you to continue and eat. Rest.” He held his clubs to his sides. They felt heavier than before, his muscles were burning. He’d never been this active for this long before.

His ancestor vanished for a moment, and returned with food. His stomach jumped up, awake and needy. He about jammed the handle of his club into it, to get it to stop existing. The plate was set on the desk, and he looked over to it with a longing he didn’t want to have.

“You get a hit in on me, and you’re done for the night. You get food, you can go relax. If I get one you stay in here the rest of tonight.” The deal wasn’t rigged, he was smaller, faster, and though his fighting left something to be wanted, he could possibly do it.

“Got it.”

“Watch your lines.” He nodded and went into his prepare position, clubs ready, and lunged. And missed the shot by quite a bit. His ancestor was a big motherfucker but fast, far faster than he had considered. He almost missed dodging the oncoming blow, he slid back on the ground and nearly introduced the floor to his chin.

Another lunge and another dodge. He stumbled back without any of the grace his ancestor had. But still he did dodge, got out-of-the-way of any skin-fall. His heart was pounding in his ears, joining the stabbing inside his thinkpan.

He went to lunge and suddenly stopped; he couldn’t move. Someone had stuck a knife in his stomach and twisted, then yanked it back and all his organs were on the outside. At least it felt that way. He barely stopped himself from dropping a club from the pain.

Instead a too large hand grabbed him and another pushed back on his knees and he fell to the ground. Knocking his head on the metal floor. His thinkpan now beyond throbbing in agony, instead it was attempting to swell to escape. He whined in pain; it wasn’t intentional, instead it just came out of his squawk-box.

“Well, at least you tried,” his elder said, before pulling away his hands. He grabbed the front of Gamzee’s shirt and yanked him half-way up. Vision fuzzy, he couldn’t exactly manage to help. His head was swimming. Eventually, he managed to get his feet about him and his shirt was released. He felt horribly dizzy, but he still followed behind his elder, holding onto the side of his head.

He got to the desk and leaned on it, trying to make his head work with him. He felt more exhausted now, and the lights around the office-block seemed to be blinking. He slid down the side of the desk and sat on the floor, a tangle of limbs, his headache worse than ever.

He heard the slight chuckle from his elder and he wanted to growl. But by the time he got that want the moment had passed, and it would probably be stupid to do it anyway. His body was shuffled across the floor, to the other side of the desk so he could lean his head back.

The floor and ceiling were stating to make fucking sense and be divided by walls again. He shifted his weight so the boulder he was carrying around on his neck could lean against his hands, and pressed against his eyes trying to get rid of the headache.

“You really need your dose of food, don’t you?” He wanted to talk, but it came out as a whine. “Well if that isn’t the most pathetic noise I’ve ever heard you make.” His lip curled, his head was too sore for this. “I’ll give you your food, lean back.” He did and his food-sack was either doing flip-flops in joy or horror.

He grabbed the edges of the plate and he couldn’t exactly get it to hold. He wanted to grab it, but his fingers seemed as if they were going to take a vacation and not let him know. There was another dry chuckle from above. He tried to look up from where he was on the floor and glare, but all he manged to do was make himself dizzy.

“How sad, let me help.” The plate was moved from him and he wanted to whine again.

A moment turned into two, and his eyes adjusted more, the dizzy spell over. His ancestor’s hand appeared in his vision. “You might have to kneel but that way you don’t make a mess of my block.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, pulling himself to his knees. Balance failing him, he put both hands on the ground and strained himself up. There was food in his ancestor’s hand. Okay, now the comment made sense. He tried to raise a hand and he wobbled, his hand finding the ground again just to capture his fleeing balance.

He licked his lips and leaned forward. This wasn’t weird, it was just friendly. Right? No matter how he mentally said it, it just couldn’t seem to justify anything that was presently occurring. He grabbed food between his teeth and managed to pull it into his mouth using his tongue. He could feel his motions being watched. It didn’t help the trying to justify what was occurring in front of him.

He almost couldn’t force himself to believe he was doing this, teeth pulling meat off the hand in front of him, and tongue pulling it into his mouth. But his stomach lessened its fight and anger, his head cleared a bit more. He couldn’t justify this. Even if he would make a mess, he could just not be given food, right?

But he was hungry. Before he started pulling the food into his mouth, his stomach had felt like a black-hole had up and made residence and was taking in his other organs. His tongue slid along a calloused palm, taking up the juice from the food. He hadn’t even realized he asked his body to do that.

“Still hungry?”

With his more acute senses, he could look up at his elder and nod. He hoped that he’d get the plate this time, but after another moment the hand was back and he still knelt there and took the meat between his teeth. Getting it down was slowly leveling out his head, though he was sure when his head hit the metal floor he had shaken up his thinkpan. Just had to wait for that to pass. Another bite later the hand was gone and back with more food in it. He wasn’t going to be bothered by this, it was helpful. It was helpful. It was just helpful. That was it. Helpful.

“Make sure you clean your plate.” His tongue slid along the palm slowly at first, but still it captured the juices that he had missed. Then up to slide along the fingers, cleaning them off as well. “That’s a good boy.”

_Just helpful._

One of his elder’s fingers trailed over his tongue, before pushing between his lips. Not deep enough to make him gag on the claw, but his tongue ran over it. Still just helpful, this wasn’t creepy or wrong. Just different.

“You missed a spot.”

His tongue slid along the side of the finger, making sure everything was off it. Eventually, it pulled out of his mouth and his tongue ran over the hand one more time to make sure he didn’t miss anything else.

“You’re such a good little clown. Now stay. I’ll tell you when your punishment is up.”

He nodded as the hand vanished from his look-range and his knees let him know that the position actually hurt to be in too long. He tried shifting to something more comfortable, but really with keeping himself on his knees he couldn’t find something that wasn’t painful. He would have tried to shift beyond that, but that might incite something more. He was already in trouble for failing to land a blow and being taken down so easily. He really didn’t want to be punished any more than he already was. Time seemed to inch by like the moons across the sky back on Alternia.

He thought briefly of his friends, but quickly turned his mind away. Now wasn’t a time to get all thoughtful about the past and his run-off friends. If they were caught and didn’t get killed he’d hate to be the one at their trial, a more public execution on Alternia. All of them hung out so the whole planet could see just what happens when you defy the empire.

He really didn’t want anyone to know he knew some of the run-offs. He could give descriptions, he could tell them how many skipped conscription. No, right here, no matter how much hurt was pounding in from his knees, was no place to reminisce.

“Did you learn your lesson? Or are you going to be a brat about it and pout more?”

“Yes, sir, I learned my lesson. I ain’t gonna be a motherfuckin’ brat, I promise.”

“What was your lesson? Tell me, wriggler.” That stung.

“I should know my own limits, sir.”

“Good boy, now come on. We should get you off your knees.” His shirt was grabbed again and he was pulled to his feet. Both of his knees creaking and popping from the sudden straightening of his limbs. He couldn’t look up at his elder, he didn’t know if it was shame that he failed or if he was getting that stupid wriggler fear back.

“Let’s go get you relaxed, before all your muscles seize from you exercising them for the first time.” He just nodded, still unsure, and too unsure of his voice. He followed his elder back to the common block, and tried not to think about what just happened anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

“But I don’t understand. Alternia would be easier to police if all the adults weren’t all scattered all over the motherfucking universe.” Not that he wanted it to be, but he had a couple questions. He had successfully pushed yesterday from his mind, though still something gnawed on the corner of his food-pouch when ever he got too close. No doubt he was afraid of punishment again. So instead he’d strive to make sure it never happened again.

“Tell me, would you like to be back on Alternia?”

“Well, not really, it’d be pretty fucking boring.”

“Exactly, the closest planets are guarded. No star system close has any real life. So it’s safe from an invasion. Drones can police Alternia.”

“Well if they do, how do trolls escape motherfuckin’ conscription?”

“Easy, the drones aren’t always watching, but whether or not they manage to stay hidden is the bigger test. Most escapees get returned front and dead center.”

“Other than it gives us something to do, why take over the universe?”

“Why not? Why do anything? Most trolls do things because they can, there doesn’t need to be a reason. We don’t mind aiding the Empress, nothing brings the Messiahs greater joy than us aiding her. With our aid we are rewarded with the blood of the fallen to paint the most colorful mirth for them.” He nodded. He knew well why the church followed the Empress, but why the Empress wanted to invade the entire universe was more the question. But because she could seemed like a good enough reason.

“Come here, let me show you.” He scooted closer on the couch, as his elder reached over and grabbed a book. A thick, greyish-brown bound book; from there he could smell the blood. “Closer, I’m not going to bite, wriggler.”

He scooted closer, the only thing closer would be if he was on his elder’s lap. He looked at the blood-stained pages in the book. A name and symbol on the bottom told him who painted what in what sweep. His elder flipped through the pages, taking in each. Each a testimony from the priest who painted. A testimony from the Messiahs to them.

“All the highest ranking members of the church are allowed to paint one picture for the Messiahs when they are ordained. One that will pass through generations and never be covered.” The book shifted to one hand and his horn was grabbed and he was pulled onto his elder’s lap.

“Give me your arm.” He hesitated for a moment, but lifted his arm and presented it to his ancestor. A finger-pad moved down the length of his forearm. He watched as a claw dug in and created a small wound. Blood bubbling to the surface, before sliding along the curve. He bit his lip, trying not to squirm back into his elder. He was, suddenly, very worried that this wound wouldn’t be the last.

The dominant finger-pad gathered his blood and moved down to one of the blank pages. He watched the gentle movements from the fingertip, it moved with such reverence. Indigo lit up the off-white of the page and he suddenly felt very ill. He wiggled back against an unyielding core and continued to chew on his lip. His breathing deciding it might be fun to speed up and get all shallow.

“I’ve never painted with my own color before.” The comment did nothing to rid him of the rocks that were settling in his food-sack. He could feel his core tighten as the fingertips came back up to the wound and pulled the healing skin apart. He gasped in shock and pain as the wound tore back open, and it felt deeper this time.

Again fingertips gathered the blood and once more touched the paper. He tried not to squirm away too much, but he wanted away. Away before there was more injury for more blood or more pain. His ancestor shifted and he pressed as close as possible to try to just get his arm away. Pulling it to his chest, smearing blood on his shirt.

“Relax, wriggler.” Still-bloody fingers wrapped around his stomach pushing him even closer against the chest, lifting him until his entire back was up against the older troll. “Your arm.” More hesitation, more fear chewing on some part of him. More of everything bad settled in him, and still he lifted his arm and offered it to his elder.

Another gather of blood, and the painting continued to take form. He could feel his stomach start to sway and wave. Those rocks were going to get out one way or another it seemed. He shifted, and knew his ancestor’s lips curved into a smirk, or maybe even a smile. He pressed back when the fingertips approached and slid up his forearm. Not just gathering the blood.

This wasn’t supposed to be bad, he rationalized. See, he’s trying to get you to calm down. Relax. Just relax.

Blood gathered on fingertips once more and he didn’t even watch as it decorated the page. He closed his eyes, his face felt too hot. This wasn’t something that needed to happen. The book was moved onto his lap, and he pushed down and back to get away from it. His eyes now open and he couldn’t help but stare at the blood. His blood.

He wanted out, to be away, but he couldn’t. It was possible for him to escape, but really, over this? This wasn’t bad, he was being shown. That was it. The wound wasn’t even deep. He should be honored, he was chosen to get this lesson.

He tried taking a deep breath and calming himself down, back down to where he was before. This wasn’t bad. This didn’t really hurt; sure there was a little hurt, but it wasn’t massive. It was just a painting. Just a painting.

That was it. His ancestor’s hand was against his hip and stomach. He shifted again, and the hand tightened. He was taking deep breaths again trying to avoid the panic he had lingering in him. This wasn’t bad. He kept chanting to himself.

It could be worse. This was just a painting, just that and that alone. Nothing more.

The hand on his hip pressed against him again. He shifted just slightly to keep it from hurting him too. He was calming down. Repeating “just a painting” so many times in his mind, he was sure it was going to be scarred into his thought-tray for the rest of his life.

One hand still moving from his arm to the page, the other hand gripping onto him. His breathing leveled. This was alright. He was alright. Perfectly fine, he was fine in all ways now, fineness would be radiating of him for sweeps to come, he was all good. Another dip into his blood, and it was smeared, marring a line and more of the page.

“Relax wriggler. I’m finished, but I won’t be the one to finish it; you will.” He took a breath and dropped his arm, smearing more blood on his shirt and pants in the process.

“How?”

“In time, you will see.” Something settled heavy on his chest and made it hard to breath, he half wanted to cough just to see if it would move. The book closed and set to the side, blood still on his elder’s fingers, the other hand on him hadn’t made a move. “Do you want to move?”

“Are we done for the motherfucking day?” He bit his lip.

“Yes, unless you have any other questions.”

“I don’t. I can stay if we’re all done here.”

“Does it bother you?”

“What? Being here?”

“Yes.”

“No, not really, just motherfucking strange. It ain’t bad though.” Why did that feel like a lie? It wasn’t a lie; it was strange, but he really didn’t mind. It was just where he was parking himself. He couldn’t have any negative or positive feeling about that, he was just sitting.

So he sat, the wound on his arm closing up, and tried to ignore the stone-sack he seemed to have resting in his gut. He tried to ignore the weight on his chest, and the fear in his brain. This was just sitting, nothing weird, nothing strange, nothing bad.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say since your hatching you belonged here.” The hand on his hip and stomach tensed. Like some sort of hug. Right, a hug. Maybe this was just his ancestor’s way of showing him he cared. That would be a good and fine thing to believe, so he did.


	10. Chapter 10

Events stacking up were putting knives into all his mantras. He tried to chalk it up to being a wriggler once more. His ancestor was actually pretty nice ninety percent of the time, treating him with a sort of quiet patience that he didn’t usually up and see from any troll. But that ten percent was just dogging on him.

It wasn’t just the touches, though that was something he couldn’t get any type of grip on. He was convinced his ancestor was trying to show him care. He might even have some sort of sorrow because of his lack of lusus. It was so apparent after all.

But the words were what was getting to him, half-jokes he didn’t seem to get, that just made him nervous and, in some deep part of him, frightened. Not that he really should be frightened. He thought briefly about messaging his friends back on Alternia, but they had more important things to do then deal with his grubbish BS, if they were still alive.

And honestly, they probably weren’t.

It hurt to think about and made working with his ancestor hard. Because his friends, other than ditching conscription, had no right to be culled. But he didn’t blame them for ditching. The yellow brother didn’t want to be an engine, fishsis didn’t want to be killed by the Condescension, catsis stayed back because Karkat was staying back, Tavros would have been culled because he was paralyzed and no one was going to give a brown-blood legs. All of them had reasons.

Anyway, it was stupid that so many trolls were culled over nothing. Sure, survival of the best and all. But Tavros never did nothing that wasn’t part of the fittest. So he lost his legs - he survived, hadn’t he? The things he thought while painting his face. He thought with a mental sigh exiting somewhere and getting rid of none of the pressure.

He had to get ready, and some part of him told him to be on guard, but he didn’t want to be. Ninety percent was better than the ten, so he was going to assume he was just being up and dumb when it came to reading trolls.

“Come and eat, wriggler.” He apparently had been taking way too long, judging by the voice calling him from down the hall. Must have gotten lost on the Alternia thoughts.

He threw his clothes on, not caring too much about it. More concerned with his amount of time, it wasn’t polite to keep anyone waiting. Even if he did just want to crawl back in his ‘coon and sleep for another perigee.

His body was sore. Physical and mental conditioning in tandem, and he was being constantly half-woken up, part way though the day. He didn’t know what kept waking him but it was getting on his nerves. Sure, nothing hurt and nothing went wrong. But when he woke up, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was dirty. Far dirtier then anything could ever get him clean.

He knew he was walking stiffly, he knew that how exhausted he felt was apparent. Still it wouldn’t be good for him to disappoint, this was all he wanted for eight sweeps. He couldn’t let ten percent of something erode his want and wash that away.

It was not only a very small bit of his life, but also it was a pretty stupid ten percent. He was fine, nothing had happened that was bad unless he did something to warrant it. He had been doing his best and that was all that was asked from him. So he had no right to be up and dumb about any of this.

He followed the hall out to the common room and sat, eating slowly, thinkpan still buzzing from something. Something that wasn’t worry. He didn’t need to be worried. Nothing too bad was going to happen. He was being an idiot thinking it would turn out to be something full of evil.

Silence passed between them and again it seemed heavy. It seemed like there was a storm just looming on the horizon waiting to bring up the waves and they’d come crashing in to the haven he created. But that was just a worthless feeling. He was just fine.

Just being a stupid grub in front of someone he respected, who was just trying to show him he cared.

Lessons proceeded; they talked about the offices, they talked about being inducted, and he had to admit, he hoped he would be sooner rather than later. He wanted nothing more than to be a true and full brother of the most wondrous and mirthful of churches. Though he had to be able to fully give to all the parts of the church before he could. It gave him something to work towards. Something to keep his thought-pan away from this ridiculous notion that he was worried. Instead he could focus on being something in the church and a full on subjugglator. Prove he was up and ready to be an adult. Despite everything, he could make a troll proud with his ability. Not be the useless panrotted shitty clown from Alternia. So that’s what he would fight towards. He threw himself into the lesson, asking questions when he had them, his elder happy to answer all of them.

All of them with a smirk.

Time was a relative thing, he decided. The lesson didn’t drag and he looked forward to getting his after-lesson-work when they were going to break for lunch. He stood up and expected to be followed. Instead his elder raised a hand and entered in something.

“Bring me my food, little one.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded towards his elder and vanished back into their common area. He set down his husktop on the table and went back to the culinary-block and grabbed the plate. He walked back to the office and set it down. “Anything else?”

“Leave the door open, in case I need anything.” Fingers slid along his scalp briefly. He couldn’t help the small smile. He was doing good today.

“Yes, sir.”

He headed back to the common room and opened his husktop, booting it back up. He was going to do his research and shovel grub into his mouth. Get himself on the whole dial of ready before there ever had to be an ask.

He sat back down at the table and grabbed a bite of food, loading up the pages he’d need. He hadn’t checked his Trollian in a couple days. He should, just to see if anyone might have messaged him. He loaded the program, shoving his prong-utensil in between his teeth.

No one was on, and after a moment a window popped up. Excitement jumped into his throat, and then he sighed. Not that he wasn’t happy to hear from one of the trolls he used to talk to, but he was hoping for a message from a non-conscripted brother.

> caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]  
> CA: hey gam  
> CA: i wwas wwonderin  
> CA: havve you heard from any a our other hatchmates  
> CA: i dont even knoww if you are alivve  
> CA: i knoww equ is  
> CA: wwell if you havve let me knoww  
> CA: i guess thats all  
>   
>     caligulasAquarium ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]  
>   
> terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]  
>  _caligulasAquarium is offline, they will receive this message when they log on._  
>  TC: SoRrY bRoThEr I mOtHeRfUcKiNG hAvEn’T.  
> TC: i’Ll LeT yOu KnOw If I dO.  
> TC: HoPe It’S gOiNg GoOd OvEr ThErE.  
>   
>     terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]

He began to read over everything assigned, making sure he didn’t skip over his food. Last thing he needed was to get his head all fucked up over his lack of nutrition again. That would be a definite stick in his plans.

He got about three pages in by the time he finished his food and put the dish into the nutraveisterator. He went to his elder’s office as quietly as possible and checked, the plate empty as well he gathered it and put it in the cube to be cleaned as well.

After a few more pages he was interrupted and fetched his ancestor a drink as per his requests. Not that he minded. The happier he made him, the sooner he could get him as a sponsor and get himself well on the blessed path he was hatched to travel.

He sat back, got his instructions to learn on, and got through the rest of it. He closed his husktop, and returned it to his room, not too sure what he wanted to do next. He headed back out to the common area, and heard his name.

“Yes sir?”

“Done already?” The question was how he knew, but it’s not like he’d ask. He probably made too much noise shutting everything down.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“If I tested you now do you think you’d know it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well then, come here, and I’ll let you see what I do.” He walked over to the desk and after a brief moment was hoisted up. This was getting so common, he just relaxed against the motion as he was set on his elder’s lap. He looked at the screen on the computer, something far more technical than he had ever seen. The charts on it were pretty fucking complicated too.

He looked over them trying to make any sense of them, but gave up quickly. He wasn’t exactly that savvy on helping to decide, based on the size of the army, where they should invade. But that was all good, how many trolls got to see this kind of rare and raw data?

“This is the size of each branch,” his ancestor said while pointing to the screen. “The numbers under it are divided among rank.” He continued, the hand not pointing, landing on his thigh. “The number beside it is how many we can expend on a campaign.”

“What’s the number in bright motherfucking red?”

“That’s how many are assigned to an elite police task force from each of the branches.”

“Oh.” The hand slid down his knee, and the rest of his words got tangled in his throat when his elder’s thumb slid along the fabric covering his thigh. “So, you, uh, do the figuring if it’s worth it for a motherfucking campaign?”

“Sort of, I help run the numbers for the amount of troops being sent. The Empress chooses the battles. I just choose which factions go.”

“I see.” The hand on his leg moved up, just slightly. Enough he had to try to swallow to manage any more words. Though he didn’t know what else to add.

“Tell me little one, are you sure you’re ready for this world?” He nodded, his voice seemingly wandering off to a dark corner of the room, and the thumb hadn’t stopped its movement. “You seem soft with some of the rules.” He swallowed again. The thumb stopped moving and pressed into the meat on his thigh.

“I’m not. I just sometimes ask things. It don’t mean I’m motherfucking soft.”

“If it was ordered would you kill anyone, without a question?”

There was silence now, he was desperately trying to summon a lie in him. No, he’d wonder. If he was ordered to kill his friends, why? If he had to kill someone just because of their color. That would bother him. He’d have to ask. He needed a motherfucking lie like a crutch right now. But his ancestor’s thumb was pressing harder into his leg and he tried not to show that pain either.

“I-I could.” That wasn’t a lie; he could do it, but he wouldn’t want to. The thumb relaxed for the briefest moment. Then pain shot up his leg, as too-long claws pushed against his leg. He gasped from surprise then hissed in agony as they pressed deeper.

“It’s not a matter of could, it’s a matter of will.” He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain. The funny thing was, when he needed it the most, all he could seem to do was hold his breath and hope it would be over soon. “The question remains: would you do it, without question, without hesitation, without a second thought?”

“Ye-Yes.” The claws dragged up his leg, slicing through fabric like it was air. He realized it wasn’t enough to be bleeding, just enough to make him sting and his skin to bridge up into a welt. He wasn’t bleeding, this wasn’t too bad.

“I’m going to need a little more enthusiasm than that.” The claws pulled from his skin, and the hand moved to his inner thigh, he tried to kick his leg away, then tried to close his legs, but that was a futile effort to fight something he knew was coming. His stomach felt heavy and he felt tears of anguish lodge themselves in his throat.

His elder’s hand grabbed the middle of his thigh, too high to be comfortable, and he just gripped the skin and muscle tightly. He couldn’t hold in the cry of pain as the hand twisted the flesh. He swore he could already feel the blood-tubes breaking and a bruise forming from the force.

“Well, let’s try that again.”

There was silence and every moment it lingered the grip grew tighter. He had to say something and say it fast. “I could.” His voice cracked. “I would, I’d do whatever I was ordered.” A sharp intake of air as pain shot up his hip and down to his knee.

“Would you?”

“Y-Yes, sir.” He could hear the tears in his voice as the hand twisted more.

“Would you do anything I asked of you?”

“Yeah.” He swore he could feel tears trying to cling to his lashes. “Yes, I would.” The hand released its grip and left behind a pounding reminder of a hand. It still felt like it was there, though he could see it was gone.

“That’s the enthusiasm I want. Don’t forget it.”


	11. Chapter 11

He hadn’t slept. Well, he had attempted to, but part-way through the day he was woken up again. This time, the pain hadn’t been there; instead, just the pressure in his personal corner of warm space. He couldn’t place what it was, other than the strangest dream. Though, if they were dreams, why did he keep waking up so tired?  
  
In the shower he did his best to not look at the bruise on his thigh, or even remember its existence. He was already up way too early to be doing anything rational. He just shoved his head under the water. It didn’t help him feel clean, he couldn’t seem to feel that. But that was okay, he had been dirty for longer stretches of time before.  
  
He just let his mind wander. Back to Alternia, when he’d talk to his friends not play message-tag with them. Back to when his biggest worry was if his lusus was gonna come home that night or not. Back when, even if his lusus didn’t, he’d have someone around, even if it was just over Trollian.  
  
His stomach hadn’t lost that heavy feeling from the day before, and now it felt like his chute was swelling shut. Something trapped in the middle, making it hard to swallow or speak. Back when dreams wouldn’t haunt him. He still heard that distant voice telling him to run and felt skeletal hands clawing at him, dragging him back even as they screamed for him to run and get away.  
  
His stomach lurched, heavy and sour. He almost had the urge to vomit, but it passed. Instead he just turned the water from warm to cold, maybe that would soothe his aching. He shivered from the sudden change of temperature and sighed. It didn’t help any, just made him cold.  
  
He tried swallowing down the water to get rid of the thing in his throat, but that didn’t help either. His hand strayed down to his leg. Down to the bruise, and he poked it. He half-gasped, half-hissed in pain. He couldn’t justify any of that action up to anything.  
  
Not that he hadn’t been trying. That’s all his mind could seem to go back to. All he could seem to think. That fear was back, and he couldn’t even call it a wriggler fear anymore. It was a real fear. He’d done nothing to incite that kind of reaction, he’d been good. He’d done everything asked of him, sure he might have just said he could, but that didn’t mean he needed…  
  
No, he wouldn’t think about it anymore, it made him fidget and want to scream or cry. Anyway, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t afraid. Instead, he’d think about something else. The only thing was, other than his probably-dead friends and his ancestor, he didn’t have anything else to think about.  
  
He cast around his head for a while, still finding nothing. He just sighed and instead let his mind work back to each one of his friends. It was better than thinking about what he’d have to face half-exhausted. At least he knew both Eridan and Equius were alive. Even though Eridan and him were never that close and Equius was generally confusing. Telling him how shameful he was to his blood color, to his right, his inheritance. Yet here he was, safe, sound, and his blood-link didn’t think him up a failure or a disappointment. Sad maybe, but not witless to his blood.  
  
He got himself out from under the water and decided he might as well get ready for the night. Even if he really wasn’t up to his usual ability. But there was no way any more sleep was going to come. He put on his patched uniform, and fought a yawn as he walked out to the common area, still some time before food would be had.  
  
Instead he spent a moment wandering aimlessly, until he managed to be back in his block. He stared around for a moment, unsure what to do with himself, before he settled down and logged on to his computer. Still no one on, still nothing. Eridan hadn’t even messaged him back.  
  
He searched through the registries. He didn’t see any other names he recognized. He didn’t see mention of any of his friends names or symbols as being recovered from Alternia, no doubt Feferi’s name would at least make a mention. So maybe they were safe.  
  
He sighed and shut down his computer.  
  
It was strange, just how alone he felt in that moment. How actually frightened that made him. He felt cut off from the rest of the universe. He knew damn well that he could just go on out to the rest of the ship. He just didn’t because he had been busy. Busy with lessons, busy getting to know someone who might up and try to care for him.  
  
It was probably better he stay back anyway. Any other subjugglator would be mad jealous of his teacher. He didn’t like the idea of having to deal with that, not that he wouldn’t stand up for himself. He just didn’t really want to fight with anyone about that. Or really anything.  
  
He looked around his room, thinkpan flashing through thoughts faster than he could seem to grasp them. All those thoughts had feelings and he couldn’t get a handle on those. Instead he just sighed and tried to distract his brain. His fingers traced the metal of his desk.  
  
He didn’t like feeling this lonely and was half tempted to go find his ancestor and affirm he wasn’t the only troll left alive. Like somehow he’d be immune to the Vast Glub that just happened. He was being stupid and he knew it, his feelings were all twisted up over a lack of sleep. All messed up from other shit he didn’t want to get into, so he wouldn’t.  
  
He was tempted to strip back down and try to sleep more. Get himself to figure out all of this, at the very least. His mind might work through all of it and allow him reprieve from the feelings bottled in him. But it probably wouldn’t happen. He’d just have to shower, paint his face, and get dressed again, after he failed to fall asleep.  
  
Unable to handle sitting still anymore, he stood and walked out to the common areas and wandered, feeling just as aimless as he looked. But he really didn’t like this feeling he had settling in him. He couldn’t seem to find a place for it. Yeah, there was a little fear, but it was probably the fear of being a disappointment. There was also this looming something, but that could just be from the lack of sleep.  
  
He lay down on the couch and looked at the ceiling. Just waiting, waiting for the night to start and have him do something. Full of a strange energy, but at the same time he was exhausted. He really wished bodies weren’t so fucking confusing. If they are tired they should just be tired, and if they are awake they should just be awake, not somewhere in the middle packed with confusion. Bodies just needed to sit back and chill and get their parts on right, then they could continue. Only then would they be easier to manage. He tried not to close his eyes, the nightmare still present in his mind the last time he fell asleep on the couch. Instead, he looked at defects on the ceiling and made pictures from the shapes. It would at least give him something to distract his confusing body and racing mind.  
  
“You’re up early, wriggler.”  
  
He jumped, his entire body gaining air off the couch, and said “I must be pretty motherfuckin’ excited for the day,” though his voice was nowhere near reflecting that.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Well, it’s not that I ain’t, I just, I couldn’t seem to sleep.”  
  
“How unfortunate. Come.” He slid off the couch and walked over to the table and got his grub on. Mind still partially distant, half-asleep and half-awake, though he kept trying to shake the sleeping part of himself awake. He cleaned up after they both ate, and set himself on following his ancestor out to his office-block.  
  
They worked, worked through things that took him two or three times to wrap his mind around. Much to his elder’s displeasure. The words were soft, barely there at first. The occasional sigh followed by a low rumble of “are you kidding me?”  
  
He tried to get his head to focus, but he couldn’t. He was too tired. Something clinging to the back of his mind, making his heart speed up every time his elder lifted a hand. The words didn’t hurt at first, they were just words. Asking him why he was failing. Why he was being stupid. Why he couldn’t even grasp the simplest of things.  
  
He apologized. He tried to explain, he tried to tell his ancestor he was trying.  
  
But he was a liar. Honestly, he should have known better than to try to justify this. There was absolutely no reason for him to be this way. Tired or not, he had to be able to push through. He couldn’t even do that. He wasn’t sure if that should be forgiven, he promised him he wouldn’t slack. He had enough lessons to know that he already had been. Here he was repeating past mistakes, like that was just normal for him.  
  
His ancestor’s words grew louder, as his inability was brought to the forefront. They started to hurt then, he didn’t want to make him angry. He didn’t want to fail so obviously in front of him. A blanket of sadness and guilt fell on him. He should do better.  
  
He fought his slowly ticking mind, and tried to make it process. Thoughts and facts that would be close now seemed distanced by the whole of space. He couldn’t bridge them without time to make them connect. It was pathetic really, but he was trying. Trying with his all and every fiber of his being. But he couldn’t manage, and he hated being a disappointment.  
  
He found himself getting half lost back on Alternia, when Equius would type those words at him, they were close to these words. But Equius’s words never hurt so much as these did now. He almost had to physically shake his head away from there. He couldn’t let his mind be divided now.  
  
Another try at breaching the distance, and another dumb question. He swallowed dryly, dropping his head. Resigning himself to more words, more words that dragged all he really was out in the open. Stupid wriggler who thought he could do this, to make himself what he always wished. But no, he spent too much time consumed with grubbish bullshit. Too long waiting for something to come home, to give him the push he needed.  
  
His lip was nearly bleeding by the time the lesson finished, and he promised, swore, and vowed he’d fix this. His ancestor wouldn’t have to put up with it again. He promised that he’d be better tomorrow. He apologized again, that thick feeling back in his throat making him swallow.  
  
He was always like this, harassing people with his stupidity, and of course the only way they could retaliate was to get on him about it. Hadn’t he learned this lesson from his friends? How many times did he prove himself one ignorant motherfucker, who just kept pestering them and they had no choice to retaliate the only way he could have understood.  
  
Maybe Equius was right, maybe he was a –  
  
No.  
  
He was tired, he was having problems sleeping. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t any of that. He would go and he’d get his sleep on the right and he would get through this. He’d impress his ancestor tomorrow and this would be forgotten.  
  
He promised he’d be better. He would keep his promise, he refused to do otherwise. He had his share of fuck-ups over his life, but not here, not in front of his elder. Not when his dreams were riding on this thinning line. He’d be better, he swore. He promised.  
  
He went to his respiteblock, he stripped down, and curled in his ‘coon demanding his body to sleep. Once he did he could fix this mess, and get himself back on the path. Everyone stumbled and he was no exception. Even Equius with all his hemocaste shit, he couldn’t fire a bow until Nepeta had taught him to be gentle with them. To not let anger eat at him.  
  
The slime around him was warm and welcoming. He closed his eyes and let his body float in the way of sleep. Tomorrow would be better.


	12. Chapter 12

He woke up, his stomach cramping something wicked. But there had been no half-sleep, only a true and pure sleep. One he had needed for some time. He got out of his ‘coon and quickly scraped off the slime and got himself re-ready for the rest of the day.

He caught the time; he’d missed all of lunch and it was about an hour until he ate dinner. His stomach could wait. Instead, he popped open his husktop and got to his after-schoolfeeding work. He slammed through it, everything he was having problems with before coming easy. He didn’t know why he was having problems before.

He flashed through all the work and shut his husktop down. He left his room and went to find his elder. He didn’t know why he was doing it but it seemed right, and that’s what he’d do. He wondered out to the common areas. He could hear a voice and he immediately knew where his elder was. He hesitated a moment before walking forward. No, he shouldn’t, really he’d already irritated him enough for one day. When he saw him again, he’d say his piece and that would be that. He turned and walked back to his block.

He paced around his room for a while. He had some things he needed to say, but it could and would wait. Everything was leaving him a nervous mess of something, and he wasn’t enjoying it in the slightest. He was trying to get around all of this and get his head to work in time with his body.

His stomach and head hurt, his mind was racing again going through what he would say. He just wanted someone to sit him down and tell him he was being stupid. He wanted someone to sit him down and tell him everything was going to be okay.

He clicked back on his husktop and paced a bit more. Maybe by some power from the Messiahs one of his friends would log on and he could talk to them. He’d feel less isolated, less alone, less like him and his ancestor were the only surviving members of the troll species.

He settled on his chair when the pain from his head got to be too much and he looked at the time he had remaining. Only about twenty minutes until dinner. He could keep twenty minutes. He checked his Trollian with a futility he had grown accustomed to. He’d even settle for one of the hemohierarchy rants from Equius. He’d give him as many weird orders as he wanted. He would settle for Eridan talking about how he was the first landdweller he’d cull, how disgusting he was for not having fins.

But there was no one and it felt like this was an odd supposed to be. It made him worry. His conscription ditching friends were probably dead, but Equius? Eridan? They were alive. He wished they’d just pop on and tell him he wasn’t alone. Him, his ancestor, and one part of a ship, and that’s all there was.

How long had he even been there two weeks? Three? Time was getting weird and he couldn’t seem to remember how long. His pumper sped up and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He was not alone. His ancestor wouldn’t nearly be as chill if most of the trolls were suddenly dead.

He had been here… one, two, three. Three weeks. He decided it wasn’t that hard to figure out, he didn’t even know why he had been freaking out. Nothing was really going wrong. So, he needed to calm down and just chill. He leaned back in his chair and just pulled out his sylladex. He’d calm himself the fuck down and he’d get on with this.

He looked back at his computer after the lights from his sylladex had successfully taken most of his attention, and sighed. He had two minutes left, but that was right up in a proper time he could show his face.

He stood and walked out of his room. His body was alight with a weird sort of energy. A nervous, skittering energy. His ancestor regarded him when he walked out, calculating and appraising all over again. He swallowed; he thought they were past this phase.

“Sir?” His eyes dropped, he couldn’t face him. His hands felt fidgety, instead he just shoved them into his pockets.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry about earlier.” He swallowed again. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Come here.” He bit his lip and took the steps forward, his stomach clenching at the thought. But still he moved forward. His jaw was grabbed and his head yanked up so his eyes had no option but to meet his ancestors’. “Wipe that look off your face.”

He tried to get rid of whatever expression crossed his features. He tried to look blank at least, blank but listening. He swallowed again, it was dry and loud in his ears. He felt his breathing hitch as the fingers curled around his jaw tensed.

“Now, I know you had to raise yourself. It shows. You have had, and still have, problems. Glaringly obvious flaws and more shortcomings than I know how to began to count. I have given you a lot of leniency. I have given a lot to you. But all you seem to do is take.”

“Sir, I know th–”

“Shut up, and let me finish.” He nodded as much as he could. The hand tightened on his jaw, a throbbing pain joined the stabbing pain in his head. He could feel his eyes widen, despite the headache. “Now, I gave you plenty of warnings, I’ve told you how I feel about slacking. Yet, you continue. I can only believe you have a reason for it. Now, it could either be you are an incompetent weak little shit who should have been killed. Or who I should just put down, to put you out of your misery. Or you like pissing me off. Either option seems ridiculous, but then again, I don’t know what else to expect from you.”

His bloodpusher jumped into his throat and he nearly choked on it. He swallowed, trying to get it back into its position. He waited long enough to see if his ancestor had anything else to add. When the silence lasted long enough he was sure he could speak, he licked his lips.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to up and make you angry. I am motherfucking trying, and I know you’ve been real good to me. I know that I fuck up. That’s gotta be harsh on you. But I am trying so hard to get where I need to be. I am so motherfucking sorry I fucked up today. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you always say, and I have yet to see any follow through. Is it your goal to disappoint me?”

“No, sir, I don’t want to motherfucking disappoint you.”

“You’re doing a fucking fine job of making it happen.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I mean it. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“If it’s not one of those, is it something I’m doing? Because if so, you have to tell me, so that way I can hold you accountable for what are your problems. Not ones I am causing. Is that it, wriggler?”

“No sir, you ain’t done nothing wrong. You’ve been amazing good to me, when I know you didn’t have to be. I’m sorry I up and disappoint you. But it’s my own dumb mistakes that make all it happen. You ain’t doing nothing other than teaching me and trying to make me better. I swear, I won’t fail you again, I will get it all right. I promise.”

“Good. I don’t take kindly to failures, let alone ones who fail twice at the same thing.”

“I won’t, I promise. I up and swear it.”

“Gamzee,” The hand on his jaw tightened and yanked him forward, before letting go and he had a split second to catch any semblance of balance. He landed half-leaning, half-standing against his ancestor’s lap. “You are the most pathetic little fuck I’ve ever met. But even you serve your uses. Don’t let it happen again or you will force my hand.”

He bit his lip and nodded, unsure if he should even respond. His elder wrapped an arm around him and hoisted him up. He kept his head down, hair covering his eyes, and he was sure his ancestor knew damn well how ashamed he was of fucking up as badly as he had.

“Do you understand, little one?”

“Yes, sir.” He hardly whispered the words. “I won’t do it again.” His ancestor set him halfway down on his lap, the hand on him shifting so he could more easily hold him up. Coiling around his hip and most of his lower back.

“Now, get that dejected look off your face. You look like a kicked barkbeast.” His eyes moved up to his ancestor’s face and with one determined swallow, he tried his best to get rid of the heaviness in his chest, the lump in his throat, and the tears he could feel in the corners of his eyes.

He decided he hated being a disappointment. But his elder was wicked nice to forgive him. He had to be frustrating, especially when he went against direct orders or warnings. His elder didn’t move from looking at him, or go to release him from the hold.

“Atta boy. I know there is a very well-behaved little shit in there. I’ve seen him once or twice, we just have to make that part of you permanent.”

“I’ll do my motherfucking best, sir. I always try to do my best.”

“I don’t even think you know what your best is. Not yet anyway.” There was a smirk, and another half-joke he didn’t understand. The hand around him hoisted him up higher.

“What do you think my best is then?”

His elder smiled. It was toothy, malicious, and dangerous, and his pumper jumped right back into beating too fast for its own good. His core tightened, fighting the urge to back away.

“I’m sure you’ll prove to have your uses.” The hand holding him up tensed, gripping the flesh; he hadn’t realized that his elder was gripping him so low. Maybe he had slid down a bit for grip. “I know for one, I’ll need to see that well-behaved little wriggler come out more often.”

“Okay, I’ll make my motherfucking best effort to get him out all the time. Any motherfucking thing else?”

“You’ll need to remember to keep all warnings in mind when you follow orders. Justice is swift here, little one.” He nodded. He could do this, and his elder was giving him a flat-out explanation on how to make and keep him happy. That was pretty fucking lucky.

“Alright, anything else?”

“Always do what I or the Empress commands. It will get you far, I promise.” he nodded. Those were easy enough steps. He could manage all of those as long as he kept himself fed, rested, and willing. “Sound like a plan? Can you swear on your life, your blood, the Messiahs themselves you’ll follow those exactly?”

“I swear on everything holy and right, I will follow them, sir. Wicked nice of you to help me and be so patient.”

“It’s not even a matter.” His elder smiled again, all poison and teeth. He just agreed to a half-joke he didn’t understand. But, his elder wouldn’t lead him astray. If he wanted him dead he would have done it already. “Now, let us let you eat, before I think you’ll start eating my hand.” His elder gave him another soft squeeze before setting him back down on the ground.

He walked over to his spot and got himself food his stomach desperately wanted, and that quelled most of the weight in it. He had been forgiven and he’d been given everything he needed to succeed as time went on.

After food, he excused himself back to his room, to try to get as much sleep as trollishly possible so he didn’t have to repeat anything that happened earlier in the day. It turned out napping in the middle of the night did nothing to make you sleep the whole of the day. Instead he hung around his ‘coon trying to will sleep that wouldn’t seem to come. After a while he got out of it, got the slime off and redressed himself. He took to running around his room trying to tire himself. But all that did was make him thirsty.

He stopped and headed out to the common area, his elder looked as if he followed his lead and went to bed early. He got himself water and wandered around the common areas for a while. Anything to make his mind realize he needed to sleep.

He sighed in futility and went back to his room. Back in his ‘coon, he sighed, willing sleep to come.


	13. Chapter 13

When he woke, he realized the time and panicked. He quickly hoisted himself out of the slime and got himself showered, painted, and dressed. He said he wouldn’t fuck up but then he did almost immediately. Seriously, was he trying to be a disappointment or get himself killed?

He jogged out to the common area and was about to cut over to the office block when two voices stopped him. His elder was speaking to the Empress and he really shouldn’t barge in. So he stopped, and slid over to the door way as quietly as possible.

He leaned against the wall and ran over how he was going to apologize for his lateness. How he was going to get another dose of forgiveness, right after the last one. He had fucking promised himself he’d make today better. That he’d fix his mistakes. Messiahs help him, he was turning into a wonderful mess of a failure.

“Does this mean I get to play, love?” The voice cut right through his thoughts. She sounded giddy, happy. A little like Feferi, only older, meaner, and definitely more prone to violence than his fishsister ever was.

“If you want. It has seemed too easy.”

“Makes your job easier, if I do say so myself. How long until it comes to pass? Or are you enjoying toying with him too much? The cat to his mouse. Offering him freedom, then reeling him back in, with your claws if necessary.”

“As fun as the chase is, I’m a fan of action. I want to see him wrecked, begging, crying, just pleading for death or reprieve. I’m sure it’s lovely on him.”

“Are you waxing poetic about breaking trolls again?”

“As if you mind. As if you ever minded, and haven’t done so yourself to me.” He wondered what they were talking about, though there were bound to be a lot of trolls who could fall under that. Maybe a heretical prisoner. That would totally make sense. The way they spoke, though, they were friends. He thought that was pretty cool, how many trolls got to claim that type of bond with the Empress?

“Only difference between me and you is my toys stay firmly locked in close quarters. I don’t have to worry if they’ll catch my process and run. All the while I make them work for me. It’s a good system, love, you should adopt it.”

“Trust me, he won’t run. As for adopting it, I don’t think I will. My way’s more thrilling. Is this your ploy to let you take it over? You know I would let you if you asked, doll.”

“No, he’s yours to have, love. It was my idea, but he’s yours. It’s only fair, and you know I am always fair with you.”

“You are so benevolent, allowing me to execute the idea I had in the first place. While taking credit for it, sweet really. I always wondered why you were called The Kindest Empress.”

“Oh fuck off. Fine, it was your idea, but I’ve given you a couple for him. I take it’s going well.”

“It is. As fun as it is to play with him, I’m getting impatient with one type of play, and wanting after another. It’s adorable when they scream and cry.”

“Easy, love, wait. You want it to be perfect don’t you? You know the longer you wait the better it is, how many sweeps have we had to learn this?”

“I know, but trust me when I say you’ll be pleased by him. As for how long, too many, considering the one we learned it on was over 100 sweeps ago.”

“That long already? How time flies, love! So, I’ll be pleased with him? I didn’t realize you were factoring me into this. I thought this was your game until you got bored and put him down, like all the others you have before.”

“This one’s different.”

“Right, I know. But you’re factoring me in so much. Do you miss seeing me, love?” Were they closer than friends? Moirails maybe? He wasn’t sure, but he realized he probably shouldn’t be listening in. He didn’t think he’d ever get the chance to hear the Empress so candidly again in his life. A little longer wouldn’t hurt.

“Space does have its limitations.”

“I think that’s the closest you have ever got to saying you miss me, love. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear those words from you.”

“You have all eternity to wait for it.”

“If I keep telling you to fuck off will you eventually do it?”

“Where would you like me to go, doll?”

“Pervert.”

“I suddenly feel like this conversation got entirely one-sided. Why are you talking to yourself with me here?”

“Oh haha. You ain’t immune from being one.”

“Your wrigglerhood is showing. Did I frustrate you?”

“No, you’re just krilling me, you’re reely mean.”

“Now it’s time for fish puns? I thought you were over this.”

“It irritates you. So why not?”

“Should I suddenly get a pun habit and you could be annoyed by it?”

“What would you do… Clown puns? I don’t think there are that many of them, anyway it wouldn’t suit you. By the by, you never answered my question. Do I get a romp with him?”

“I’m sure I could find something to pun over. I said if you wanted.”

“Oh yes, you did - forgive me, love. I would, you said he’s cute. And you know I have a thing for cute landdwelling trolls.”

“I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, or if you’re referencing someone else.”

“Oh, love, accept it. When you were a wriggler you were adorable. Just cheek-pinching adorable.”

“Sometimes, I try to forget how long I’ve known you. You know damn well, wrigglerhood for me is a distant dream I don’t like remembering.”

“Of course, love. I apologize, but I still think you’re cute. Whether or not you want to believe it. You’re the most handsome troll with all his resources I know.” Exactly how they were close he couldn’t guess, part of the time it seemed like they were friends, and in another part it seemed like they were moirails, and that last comment was crossing over to a flushed line.

“Speaking of having all my resources, how’s your Psiioniic?”

“He’s such a good Helmsman. He’s starting to learn how we play the little game. He’s a good boy and he gets treats.”

“It’s taken him way too much time to learn that as far as I’m concerned.”

“This coming from the guy who kills anything that hangs around him too long. You’re not going to have him then kill him, are you?”

“If he proves fun, then no. If not, well, I’ll at least let you have a play before I do.”

“Oh love, you know how fun it is to have something twisted up with you like that? There are moments that aren’t fun, but most of it is just hilarious, especially as they defiantly try to keep themselves. At the very least you can laugh at their attempts. But you’re kind to let me play before you kill him.”

He bit onto his lip, nerves sudden firing way too fast. Some things said just freaked him out a bit. He felt fear and he swore he was on the verge of understanding. He was eavesdropping and he should probably quit it. It wasn’t nice if they were close in any way for him to be listening in on a private conversation. Especially if he was caught.

“So was that what prompted you to call me, love? Just that fun tidbit from earlier?”

“What sort of fun tidbits do you want more of?”

“I don’t really know, I think it’s funny how tied up you are with him. You dropped everything to have him. You even told me you were done playing games for a while. Then he comes along… Is it serendipity?” She laughed and his elder joined in.

“More a fun happen-chance; my chances for serendipity are gone, but that doesn’t mean I stop living.”

“You should give me a time frame, love. Then I can come visit, and space won’t be between us.”

“A week.”

“That soon? What will that be, a little over a perigee of prep?”

“I’m impatient.”

She laughed again. “Don’t be coy, you’re interested in his other inclinations.”

His elder sighed. “I never said I wasn’t. I’m shrimply impatient.” The Empress squealed. Gamzee raised an eyebrow, it seemed so childish, but she was the Empress. She could squeal if she wanted to.

“You fish punned for me! I love you.”

“The things I do for you, doll.”

“Sorry, it’s just you so rarely indulge in it. I know you’re not a seadweller, but you should have been. So really a week? Should I give you a few added days?”

“I’m quite fine being a landdweller, the ocean never suited me. A few extra days would be very nice of you. But I know you are impatient too.”

“I’ll let you play with him on your lonesome, just don’t kill him right away.”

“I won’t.”

“And leave something of him for me.”

“I will. What do you think I am? Completely insensitive to your needs?”

“I know you sometimes can’t reel yourself in,” The Empress paused for a moment. “That wasn’t a pun, just a turn of phrase.”

“With you I can never be shore.” The Empress laughed again.

The conversation was wrapping up, he should get out of there before he was discovered listening in on a conversation. Let alone one with the Empress. He pulled himself from the wall and sneaked back to his room. Something tugging him to go to and hide himself somewhere. But he really didn’t have time for that. He didn’t have time for going through anything he had just felt or heard. It didn’t matter, he was about to get yelled at for being late.

He bit his lip, realizing they were pretty frayed from the day before; he pulled his teeth back and instead chewed on his tongue. He had to wait long enough for the conversation to finish. It would be better if he was rushing out instead of his ancestor coming to get him.

He opened the door after a few minutes. He tried to get in the mind that he had just woken up and was rushing and literally ran into his ancestor. It took him a moment to get his bearings. He looked up quickly and took a breath.

“I’m sorry. Shit, I didn’t mean to up and sleep for so long. I–”

“Hush.” His ancestor leaned down and grabbed his sides and picked him up. “I realize I’ve been working you very hard, you haven’t gotten a whole night off since you got here. I figured I’d let you sleep. You’re not in trouble.”

He stared for a moment. All the preparations he’d been making, all the words he thought up to give his ancestor flew out the window. Instead he was picked up and told he was okay. He was confused, and he was sure it showed. His ancestor just smirked. “I would have woken you up, if I wanted you up.”

He didn’t know what to say. All the words he had in his mind suddenly vanished and instead he was here, a little afraid, slightly nervous, and confused. Really confused.

“Oh,” he eventually managed.

“You hungry?” He nodded. His elder walked him out to the common area and set him down. “You’re free for the night.” he went and grabbed food and just stared. It was wicked lucky he wasn’t in trouble. But it just seemed so strange.

He ate fast, quelling the pain in his stomach and head he had gotten so used to. His ancestor had taken up residence on the couch and apparently was taking the night off too. He had a choice; he could go curl up in his room and try to catch one of his friends online, or he could hang out with his ancestor.

His friends weren’t getting online, they hadn’t been at the least. Surely, one of them would have messaged him. Anyway, if he waited he wouldn’t have anything to do; at least his ancestor would talk to him.

He had been fully forgiven, if he didn’t have the memory of the argument he wouldn’t have even known it happened. He finished eating, dropped off his dish, and walked over to the couch, taking up his own residence on it.

His ancestor glanced over at him. Gamzee pulled his legs up on to the couch and took over a corner of it. He leaned on the arm and watched the show, silently. He really didn’t want to be underfoot, so he made himself small as possible.

It was about an hour in that his ancestor reached over and grabbed him and pulled him towards him. He shifted accordingly, and he couldn’t help the leap of surprise in his stomach as his body was moved. He had no idea what was going on today, after yesterday… Maybe his bloodlink felt all bad about his anger, when he realized he hadn’t given him a break.

He stretched out his legs tentatively and leaned his head on his ancestor’s lap. His feet dangled off the side of the couch, but it didn’t matter, he was actually quite comfortable there. His elder’s arm landed on his shoulder. Apparently he was fine to have him there, at least they both felt the same way.

The hand on his shoulder pressed gently into the flesh and slid along his arm. He’d gotten used to this type of affection, and he was fine to indulge in it. The movements stayed soft against his bicep, and he could feel a shiver want to rip through him. He tried to hold it back, but his arm moved unintentionally to push the touch away. Fear shot into him and dissipated quickly with his bloodlink’s chuckle.

His hand moved back to the area, and Gamzee couldn’t help the twitch as he tried to escape it. Claws worked their way down his bicep and to his forearm. Still a too-gentle touch that made his stomach tighten and a tingling shoot up the limb. The hand moved back to his bicep. He shifted again, trying to pull away.

Then it stopped, as soon as the motion started it stopped. He had enough time to get pulled away from the show and wonder just what the fuck was going on. His ancestor was confusing. He would do something stupid, and his ancestor would harm him, and then he’d be forgiven. Sometimes it was without warning, sometimes he didn’t do anything wrong. But then in moments like this…

Nothing was making any sense.

“I think I found your weakness.” His elder’s voice pulled Gamzee from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Claws and fingers were on his sides and he about shrieked in laughter. He tried to curl away from the motion, and ended up on the floor for his effort. “What the fuck?” was all he could manage to say, his body suddenly very tense.

“I said I found your weakness.” His ancestor made a lunge for him and he barely rolled out of the way.

“Nuhuh, not again. Point proven, not a-motherfucking-gain.” His ancestor made another grab at him and he rolled back and to his feet. “What did I say?”

“Oh, come back here. It won’t hurt.”

He backed up slowly. His ancestor looked like we was ready to stand and attempt to grab him. “I don’t think it’ll hurt. You stay right motherfucking there.”

“Are you going to make me?” There was danger in his elder’s voice but a smile on his face.

Gamzee shook his head. “I’m going to fucking go, you will not do that again.” He smiled in kind, but still made to escape. His ancestor stood and managed to grab on to him, fingers against his sides almost instantly.

“I think I will.”

“F-Fuck,” he gasped between laughs trying to pull away. “S-Stop, pleeease.” He managed to wriggle out of the grip and was once again on the floor, his head spinning from the sudden touch. As quickly as he could, he slid across the floor. His ancestor was smiling as he advanced and once again managed to scoop him up, now above ground with very little hope of escape.

“Please don’t. Please.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

He tried fighting off the attack, but he couldn’t manage both hands from his awkward position. Sensation ripping through his sides, stomach, and hips. He could only try to curl away, he kicked blindly. He still tried to fight between gasps of breath, between laughs. He couldn’t control himself, he just squirmed.

His ancestor stopped for a moment, leaving him gasping. A shift later, Gamzee was positioned differently in his hand, and the other one grabbed onto his legs and managed to slide across the skin enough to make him squirm.

“No, you proved your–” He squeaked instead of spoke the rest of the sentence as laughter consumed him again, his body trembling from the overt sensations. He was near tears when the hand moved down to his feet. The hand holding on to him attacked his side as his shoes were pulled off. Still laughing, short of breath and squirming in hands he couldn’t fight off.

“S-Stop,” he choked out. His feet kicking at the hand, trying to worm his way out. Even if he landed on the floor it would be better. The hand holding him up moved and he shrieked. Tears pushed into his eyes. His arms flailed and he was sure he’d hit his elder more than once, but nothing fazed him.

He couldn’t breathe and panic was welling up in his throat at the thought. It didn’t help any, he decided in some part of his brain that was rational and not lost in the movements and trying to stop them. His feet curled toward him and the sensation moved back up his leg; he thought the other hand was on his arm, but he honestly couldn’t tell.

“Pl-pl-plea-se,” he gasped out. “St-op.”

“Why? You seem to be enjoying yourself.” The hands didn’t stop moving, but they went from aggressive to softer and that renewed his laughter and he wanted to scream. Instead he choked out a sob, his body overloaded and moving quickly to something that hurt.

“Please, please… Please,” he whispered breathlessly. Tears fighting past his eyes and winning. His bloodlink chuckled and went back to being aggressive about it, hooking his fingers against Gamzee’s sides and making him shudder and nearly gag on the crying-laughter. His eyes closed tightly, his body nearly convulsing from sensation, curled as much as he could to cover areas that were ticklish. But by now, all of him was.

“Is this too much for you?”

He whimpered. Fingers brushed over his sides again. He was flat-out sobbing his laughter at this point. It hurt, his body hurt in all kind of ways he couldn’t even describe. He knew he was crying, and he couldn’t stop any of this.

“Pleeeaase,” he whined, his laughter not subsiding at all, though it was more strangled and desperate. His voice was hoarse from the continual use.

“Please what?” The hands didn’t stop; instead, one moved to his thighs and he kicked fruitlessly at the air. His elder twisted him just the smallest amount so his previously defended side was attacked by the other hand. He couldn’t tell if he was sobbing or laughing anymore.

“St-stop.”

“You sure you want me to do that?” His ancestor sounded horribly happy about all of this. Gamzee cried out as he tried to curve and defend himself again. Finding nothing, he just whimpered. “You know, wriggler, if you can’t handle this…” Fingers doubled their efforts and he didn’t know how he had it in him to wail. “I don’t know how you’ll handle being on the field.” One hand moved up his side and he shrieked. His body was too oversensitive to make sense of anything.

“’leas’,” he managed to choke out.

“Does it hurt?” He sobbed, trying to fight still but his body was quickly losing its ability to respond to thought commands, instead just writhing in captivity. “Because…” The hands stopped and he managed half a breath before his arm was grabbed and twisted behind his back. The joint screamed in agony, and as he was about to react to that, the other hand slammed against his seedflap and he screamed. Arm almost out of joint and the pain from oversensitive nerves.

“It’s a lot more painful out there.” His ancestor dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. His body was still a shaking pile of limbs from where he landed.

He sat on the floor, his back hurting, but missed it with all the other pains he was feeling. He looked stupidly up at his ancestor, who was smirking. His heart was somehow beating faster, fear lashed out of the box he put it in, and only one thought crossed his mind.

Abscond.


	14. Chapter 14

He was still shaking, leaning against the door to his respiteblock. His body was still oversensitive and sore, and somehow he thought leaning against the door would stop his elder from coming in and attacking him. He was being stupid. He pulled his legs up to his chest, and tried to take deep enough breaths to calm himself. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know what to do. He shouldn’t mind! This might be normal. Messiahs, he didn’t know. His breathing was ragged. He was sure if there was any will left in him, if his face and sides weren’t as sore as they were, he’d be crying.

But he didn’t know why.

The confusion mingling with fear was making him sick. Nothing made sense any more and he just wanted someone to explain it to him. Someone to tell him what was happening. He glanced back at the door and then at his husktop. If he was quick… He nearly bolted forward, grabbing it and bringing it to him on the floor. Back in front of the door. Ears tuned in case anyone were to walk down towards him. He turned it on and shut off the sound once it was loaded. He’d be doing nothing else other than hopefully not ranting at some-dead-body.

His fingers twitched nervously above his keyboard, after he messaged both of them. He wanted to rant at one of them, but they were both offline. He was alone. All fucking alone, he’d message Karkat but he was offline too, and he really didn’t think he’d have a chance, though that would calm him far faster than most. If he could talk to Tavros that would help too. These two he knew were alive. He didn’t want to think about death right now.

His bloodpusher was pounding.

> terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]  
>  _caligulasAquarium is offline, they will receive this message when they log on._  
>  TC: yOu ThErE?  
> TC: Is ThIs SeRiOuSlY sOmEtHiNg ThAt NeEdS tO bE hApPeNiNg?  
> TC: look i won’t even type in my quirk. if it’s bothering you  
> TC: can one of you just log the motherfuck on.  
> TC: GoD tHaT fEeLs UnNaTuRaL.  
> TC: cOmE oN gEt OnLiNe I jUsT nEeD tO tAlK tO sOmEoNe.  
> TC: tHiS iS mOtHeRfUcKiNg FuCkEd Up.  
> TC: MoThErFuCkInG wRoTe YoU bAcK I DiD.  
> TC: yOu CoUlD hAvE aT lEaSt SaId ThAnK yOu  
> TC: oR hApPy YoU’rE mOtHeRfUcKiNg AlIvE gAmZeE oR sOmEtHiNg.  
> TC: NoT jUsT iGnOrEd Me CoMpLeTeLy.  
> TC: MoThEr  
> TC: fUcKiN  
> TC: fUcK.  
> TC: jUsT gEt ThE mOtHeRfUcK oNlInE.  
> TC: Or If YoU kNoW sOmE wAy To GeT eQuIuS, gEt HiM oNlInE.  
> TC: iM nOt In ThE rIgHt To Be PiCkY.  
> TC: I JuSt NeEd MoThErFuCkInG sOmEoNe.  
> CA: god gam  
> CA: wwhat is this glubbin about  
> TC: I kNoW i’M nOt ThE oNlY oNe MoThErFuCkInG bReAtHiNg NoW.  
> TC: Do YoU hAvE lIkE fIvE mInUtEs FoR gIvInG mE sOmE aDvIcE?  
> CA: you need somethin  
> CA: fine wwhat is it  
> TC: AfTeR cOnScRiPtIoN I GoT wHeRe I wAnTeD tO aLl Be  
> TC: iT aLl WaS gReAt.  
> TC: BuT sEe I gOt A sOlO tEaChEr AnD I AiN’t ToO sUrE iF tHaT’s NoRmAl Or NoT.  
> TC: iT dOeSn’T mAtTeR bEcAuSe It’S mY bLoOdLiNk.  
> TC: aNd I dOn’T fUcKiNg KnOw WhAt’S gOiNg On.  
> CA: so wwait  
> CA: you are botherin me because you get to be taught by your ancestor?  
> CA: consider yourself lucky you havve him mine died swweeps ago  
> CA: i had to risk getting harassed by this troll who thinks I havve stolen from them to havve you bitch about being lucky  
> CA: is that it  
> CA: just come to fuckin gloat at me  
> TC: No, It AiN’t ThAt BrOtHeR.  
> TC: I jUsT bE nEeDiNg AdViCe.  
> CA: fine heres some advvice  
> CA: be happy you havve your ancestor and get ovver it  
> CA: sit back and chill  
> CA: im sure a miracle will savve you  
>   
> caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]  
>   
> TC: FuCkIn ShIt, BrO, tHaT’s NoT cOoL.

He stared at his screen. He needed legitimate advice, and really fish brother probably wasn’t the one to give it. It probably wasn’t motherfucking Equius either. But those brothers might come when they were called. Unlike the others who were either on Alternia or awaiting judgment. It was fucked up, he had been a good friend. He tried to listen, tried to help. Sure, he wasn’t much help most times. But still, he tried, they were just still kidding around with him. Faking being mean, and teasing him. He just wanted someone to tell him everything was going to be alright.

He didn’t move from his spot on the floor and just stared at Equius’ chat window. Praying over and over again that he’d log on and give advice.

> terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]  
> TC: yOu ThErE?  
> TC: PlEaSe LeT yOu Be ThErE.  
> CT: D —> Highb100d, why are you messaging me  
> TC: I hAvE nEvEr BeEn So HaPpY tO sEe YoU.  
> TC: CaN I GeT sOmE aDvIcE fRoM a BrOtHeR?  
> CT: D —> What do you require, highb100d  
> TC: I’m GoInG tO mAkE a LoNg StOrY mOtHeRfUcKiNg ShOrT.  
> TC: i WaS mOtHeRfUcKiNg CoNsCrIpTeD.  
> TC: NoRmAl AnD mOtHeRfUcKiNg PeRfEcT, rIgHt?  
> TC: TheN i GeT pUlLeD tO tHe SiDe AnD i GeT a SoLo TeAcHeR.  
> TC: TuRnS oUt He’S mY mOtHeRfUcKiNg AnCeStOr.  
> TC: aNd ShIt’S bEeN fInE nOtHiNg HaS bEeN gOiNg WrOnG.  
> TC: NoW tOdAy EvErYtHiNg Is GoInG wRoNg.  
> TC: i NeEd AdViCe.  
> CT: D —> Of course, however I might require a bit more information to give you worthy advice  
> TC: WhAt Do YoU nEeD tO kNoW?  
> CT: D —> Perhaps the e%act events that are making this situation seem wrong  
> TC: ShIt. OnE sEc Bro.  
>   
> caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]  
> CA: okay that wwas mean  
> CA: its just been stressful here  
> CA: wwhat do you need  
> TC: It’S oKaY, bRo, I uNdErStAnD. i’M tAlKiNg To EqUiUs  
> CA: do you knoww howw to start a group chat so you dont have to type it twwice  
> TC: No, I dOn’T. sOrRy, BrO.  
> CA: glubbin perfect one second  
> CA: accept the request  
> caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]  
>   
> caligulasAquarium [CA] started a public chat  
> terminallyCapricious [TC] has joined  
> centaursTesticle [CT] has joined  
> CA: noww in one room  
> CA: explain gam wwhat is so bad about your ancestor teachin you anythin  
> CT: D —> He communicated to me that it feels wrong  
> CA: gam explain  
> TC: OkAy, i’Ll MoThErFuCkInG tElL yOu.  
> TC: hE sEeMs PrEtTy NiCe, WaRnEd Me AbOuT fUcKiNg Up.  
> CT: D —> This seems very normal, highb100d  
> TC: It WaS nOrMaL, sEe, BuT hE’s GoTtEn WeIrD.  
> TC: MoThErFuCkInG mOoDs SwItCh At A wHiM aNd I dOn’T kNoW wHaT tO dO.  
> TC: FiRsT hE iS nIcE tHeN hE gEtS aLl MeAn AnD uP iN mY mOtHeRfUcKiNg FaCe.  
> TC: But ThEn He LeTs Me ApOlOgIzE aNd GeTs OvEr It.  
> TC: He TeLlS mE eXaCtLy WhAt I nEeD tO dO aNd ShIt To MaKe HiM fUcKiNg HaPpY.  
> TC: BuT hE’s NoT tElLiNg Me SoMeThInG.  
> TC: I’m So FuCkInG sOrE aNd I dOn’T eVeN kNoW wHaT hApPeNeD.  
> CA: oh glub gam  
> CT: D —> That isn’t strange for your b100d color  
> CT: D —> What is making you an%ious  
> CT: D —> E%actly, I mean  
> CA: has he touched you  
> TC: EvErYtHiNg!  
> TC: WeLl YeAh, He HaS tOuChEd Me.  
> CT: D —> Pardon  
> TC: It WoUlD mAkE tEaChInG fIgHtInG hArD, iF hE dIdN’t.  
> CA: oh wwell I guess that makes sense  
> CA: wwell wwhats so wwrong other then evverything  
> TC: MoThErFuCk I dOn’T eVeN kNoW wHaT eXaCtLy.  
> TC: hE wIlL tAlK tO mE tReAt Me AlL nOrMaL aNd MaKe ThEsE jOkEs ThAt I dOn’T hAvE aNy MoThErFuCkInG gEtTiNg.  
> TC: lIkE, wE’lL bE sItTiNg WaTcHiNg A mOvIe Or SoMeThInG aNd He’Ll GrAb Me AnD pUlL mE cLoSe To HiM.  
> TC: NoT dO nOtHiNg ElSe, JuSt HaVe Me ThErE.  
> TC: ThEn He’Ll MaKe A cOmMeNt AnD i KnOw I dOn’T gEt It.  
> TC: i ThInK hE kNoWs ToO bUt He SaYs ThEm StIlL.  
> TC: oR lIkE hE’lL bE pIsSeD oFf At Me AnD hE’lL gEt AlL aNgRy AnD uP aNd TeLl Me Im GoInG tO gEt PuNiShEd.  
> TC: aNd ThEn He’Ll LiKe ReAlIzE i AiN’t In My AbIlTiEs To EaT, sO hE’lL mOtHeRfUcKiNg HeLp.  
> CA: wwhat caused you to rant at me wwhen I wwas offline  
> TC: WeLl I hAdN’t BeEn SlEePiNg WeLl.  
> TC:I FuCkEd Up YeStErDaY rEaL bAd.  
> TC:And He GoT iN tO mE aBoUt It AnD tHeN i ApOlOgIzEd.  
> TC:aNd ThIs MoRnInG iT wAs LiKe It DiDn’T hApPeN. hE wAs BeInG rEaL cOoL aBoUt ThE tHiNg.  
> TC: hE tOlD mE i HaD tHe NiGhT oFf AnD sO wE wErE wAtChInG a ShOw.  
> TC: tHeN hE gRaBs Me. ThAt’S pReTtY nOrMaL, i’M uSeD tO tHaT.  
> TC: AnD hE hAs Me LeAnInG oN hIm AnD I DoN’t MiNd.  
> TC: BuT tHeN. MoThErFuCk It SeEmS dUmB bUt YoU gOtTa UnDeRsTaNd.  
> TC: tHeRe ArE aLl ThEsE lItTlE tHiNgS.  
> TC: BuT hE sTaRtEd To TiCkLe Me AnD iT wAs FuCkInG pAiNfUl AfTeR a WhIlE aNd I aSkEd HiM tO sToP.  
> TC: He DiDn’T uNtIl He NeArLy RiPpEd My ArM oFf AnD tHrEw Me On ThE gRoUnD.  
> TC: iT’s AlL tHeSe LiTtLe ThInGs. eVeR sInCe I gOt HeRe He’S bEeN rEaL cLoSe To Me.  
> TC: aNd I dOn’T kNoW wHaT tO dO.  
> CA: oh glub gam  
> CA: i can’t  
> CT: D —> I did not e%pect such details about this  
> CT: D —> One moment  
> TC: TaKe YoUr TiMe BrOtHeR  
> CT: D —> In my opinion, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.  
> CT: D —> Despite the fact both of you are the same e%quisite color, he is your elder  
> CT: D —> it would behoove you to serve him as he wished.  
> TC: MoThErFuCk.  
> terminallyCapricious [TC] has left  
> CA: you should havve told him wwhat you meant by servve  
> CT: D —> He can’t be so naïve as to not know what is required of him

He felt like crying again. This time a whole lot more than before. He looked over to the other grayed-out names on his Trollian and was half-tempted to just message them, he went so far as to open the window. But he couldn’t make himself type. What if they were worse off than him? He didn’t want to upset them. Make them never respond again. He closed the cover of his husktop and brought his legs up to his chest, leaning his head against his knees.

He’d have to leave his room eventually. Or his elder would come barging in here and hurt him. He didn’t understand and really his friends were no help. Eridan just got pissed off at him for no real reason then couldn’t even help, and Equius told him to do what he’d been doing. It didn’t make the creepy feeling in him fade. He didn’t know what would make it go away.

He tried justifying, but how did he rationalize that? He couldn’t. He’d been stretching for reasons for a few actions and he couldn’t come up with one. If it hadn’t hurt, it would have made sense. If it hurt it would have made sense, but with both he didn’t get it.

He could try to escape. Where would he go? He was in space, he had no idea where he was, he didn’t know how to pilot a ship. And even if he managed all that, where would he go? Most of the universe was invaded or would be invaded. And if he was found after running away, that was desertion and that death wasn’t painless, and sure he could off himself but he liked living. He could go back to Alternia, if he knew where it was. What would he do there, join the droves of conscription-skippers?

That’s if there were a lot of them and they weren’t all dead.

He closed his eyes and he could feel tears slide down his cheeks. He was alone, the only two friends he had remaining he just spoke to. He was stuck here alone, and no one he might actually consider his best friend or best bro would ever talk to him again.  
  
Trollian wasn’t what he wanted, he wanted them here. He wanted Alternia, he wanted to go back home. This wasn’t right. He held his breath, trying to stop the tears and his thoughts. It would be worse if he looked weak. He already had, he ran away. He was a fucking idiot, he decided.

Messiahs, what was he going to do when he went out there? He couldn’t just walk out there and pretend nothing happened. His shoulder hurt something wicked, and he wasn’t even going to go into the pain in his stomach from all the laughing. Let alone the other places he ached. He couldn’t pretend everything was okay and there was no way he was going to ask his elder about it. He didn’t really feel like repeating the incident. He was back to wanting to scream until he lost his voice or just cry until there was nothing wet left in him. He couldn’t do either, he knew it, his elder could literally walk in at any moment and he couldn’t be sobbing. If he screamed there was no doubt his elder would show.

He counted and calmed himself down, it also kept him quiet. Quiet and hidden, and right now he wanted to just disappear. He wanted things to make sense. The understanding would come, but only with time, and before that time could come he’d have to face his elder again. He looked at his closed husktop and a rage he didn’t usually feel rushed through his body and he kicked it away.

He hated being alone.


	15. Chapter 15

It was now or never. He had to leave his room, he had attempted to sleep the rest of yesterday and until the morning. He managed most of it, but now he had to leave. He had to go out and face him. He took a breath, put his hand on the handle, and tried to go about his routine. Pretending it didn’t happen. But more than anytime before, it was all he could think about.

What was stranger is that when he walked out to his elder, slow, cautious, and obviously afraid, it was like it hadn’t happened at all. Just like his disappointment, just like that fight. It hadn’t happened. He stayed tense through food and his lessons, but nothing came to pass. Nothing that was out of the ordinary.

That confused him even more. He was left beating the back of his head against a wall trying to get his thinkpan to understand what was going on, it had happened. He knew that, but it was like it hadn’t. He was neglecting his work and he should pick it back up. But he couldn’t make himself.

Nothing made any sense. He had been being good and was hurt. Did nothing, got hurt. Did something bad, got hurt. But each circumstance was so different he couldn’t exactly connect them and say they were a pattern, and like he’d been doing this whole time he was following orders. That’s what Equius had told him to do, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted an answer as to why.

Why was this happening to him?

He was a pretty chill troll, never meaning to do nothing that would upset anyone. He apologized when he’d fuck up, he wasn’t a troll who was mean and stupid, so why was this so difficult? He had never seen a problem like this before.

Today was too normal to make any sense. He was tired of his mind hurting. He looked over to his ‘coon; he could smuggle some and heat it up today. Bake it up and… Get himself hurt. The risk was too great, if he was caught? Shit, he’d probably be killed.

Was that what this was about? Getting him killed? Pushing him to the point he did something stupid and so he could be killed. No, if his elder wanted him dead he would have just done it. Trolls got culled for looking at another wrong. He didn’t really need a reason to kill him.

His stomach felt like it was bottoming out and heavy at the same time, it was distracting. His head hurt from just sitting there thinking over all the events. Although he was trying to pretend it didn’t happen, he needed to know why. It wasn’t like he up and wanted much. Just to be conscripted, learn the ranks of the subjugglators, join the church, and live the rest of his mirthful days. Not have this overly complicated shit pile up on him until it felt like he was buried too deep to even try to get out.

He had to get to his work.

He finished it right before he was expected to go out and eat, and even more so he felt like he shouldn’t. Just go and hide in an air duct and hope that no one came looking. He could curl up somewhere and sleep. Just sleep until hunger took him or he found some way to escape. He’d been over this, there wasn’t really any escape. He was sure he was blowing this out of proportion. He started counting again. He was fine, sure it had hurt, and most of him was still sore, but he was okay. Maybe his ancestor wouldn’t do anything else and he could laugh about his dumbness later.

He stood up and moved out to the common areas, still cautious. Still nervous. He ate and nothing came. He went to his room and nothing happened.

Nothing was happening and he was getting more and more frustrated. Not that he wanted something to happen, but he wanted his elder to stop pretending that he hadn’t hurt him. He wanted him to explain why he had. Actually, he’d settle for anyone to explain it to him.

But he wasn’t going to talk to Equius and Eridan about it again. Equius told him to serve. Eridan thought he was being stupid. He didn’t want a repeat of that conversation. No one else had logged in, not that he expected them too. It would have just made him happy if he could even get a “hi, we’re alive”.

That was all he wanted. Shit, he should have just skipped conscription and stayed with them, if worse came to worse he could have helped defend them, instead of being here and being nervous. Being half-scared, and wondering when the next confusing act of violence was going to occur. His body was tense, he could feel it as he slipped into the slime, and he couldn’t seem to get it to relax. He tried, but it refused. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would help. He wondered, as he began to drift off, if this was going to be the rest of his life.

The next day was exactly the same. Nothing weird, it was like a switch had gone off in his ancestor and he was back to being nice. He accepted it tentatively. Though history had shown that sometimes that switch flipped and he got mean. Instead he seemed happy, nice even, once again patient and helpful. All of that seemingly random violence and the short-fused state gone completely.

He accepted that maybe his ancestor just had mood-swings. But still he couldn’t let himself get too comfortable. He didn’t want to be in the cross hairs of the mood-swing, so he kept his distance. Though tried to seem as if he wasn’t, because that might piss off his ancestor too.

Maybe he should take Equius’ advice. The blue-brother was obsessed with serving in your place. Maybe that meant just do as he said and do it right away. But he had promised he’d do that for his ancestor already. Maybe what he had meant was to keep following the path he had been traveling. Though it didn’t explain the motives for the random acts of violence.

At lunch he decided he’d stop thinking about it. It was making him sick, his stomach seemed to want to escape him every time his mind drifted to the topic. He was going to be okay. He just had to follow what he had promised his ancestor he’d do and he had to push through.

Maybe this was a test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final warning call -- After this it gets terrible. Just reminding those of you reading, it's going to get horrible.


	16. Chapter 16

There was absolutely nothing suspicious about fully waking up three hours before he was supposed to be up. Especially when one moment he had been asleep and the next he had been awake. He looked around his block for anything that might have woke him up, but there was nothing, no signs of anything or anyone.

He was nervous enough, he didn’t need to think something was waking him up at night. He’d just gotten done being on edge, and he had three days of normal again. He didn’t want to go back to just waiting for something to happen. Maybe he just had some weird type of nightmare. Which shouldn’t happen; he was in slime and he was pretty sure it was supposed to keep the nightmares from coming.

Nothing in his block, that meant that he could go back to sleep. He didn’t want to try to waste three hours of his life. He just wanted to go back to bed, and do the work required of him, and hopefully today nothing bad would happen. He closed his eyes again and tried to let sleep come.

It washed over him like waves; he’d drift off then be pulled back to awake, only to drift off again. It was good enough, he decided in one of his brief moments of lucidity. It was better than wandering around aimlessly.

When he finally decided it was time to get up he followed his routine, heaviness in his stomach and a slight headache. Still, he had to keep going, push through. He couldn’t give up now, he had to fight through all of this, and then he could claim the reward. He showered and dressed, painted his face, and took a look at himself in the mirror. With a sigh he went out to eat.

Another day where he forced his mind to forget his ancestor ever did anything violent to him. He ate in silence, trying to just think about the food on his plate, to think about the bitter aftertaste, the way it looked when he pushed it around on his plate, how he counted each time he chewed. He wasn’t going to think about it.

His elder kept looking at him, he could feel it, but he didn’t look up to meet his gaze. If he wanted to think about why, he was sure it was some sort of delusional survival mechanism where if he didn’t acknowledge the older troll he might not be acknowledged. Somehow, suddenly, invisible to any eyes that passed over him.

He finished eating and grabbed both dishes and returned them to be cleaned. He followed his elder to the office block and sat down. Completely familiar to routine, but now feeling sicker than when he started. Rocks settled in his core, he couldn’t even raise his head to look at his ancestor.

He fidgeted in his chair and he could feel his elder waiting for him to ask why they weren’t starting. He didn’t want to open his mouth. He’d just sit here, quiet and invisible. He ran the tips of his fingers along the arm of the chair, trying to think of another way to indicate that they could begin. He flashed his eyes up and nodded. He didn’t exactly meet his elder’s gaze, instead just ghosted over the skin beside his eyes.

“Come here.” He bit his lip and stood. His legs felt like lead as he walked over to the other side of the desk. “What’s wrong?” His elder’s hand landed on his arm.

“Nothing, sir,” he mumbled.

“This doesn’t look like nothing.”

He shook his head. “Really sir, nothing is wrong.” His elder’s hand moved up his shoulder to his chin, and he swallowed. His head was lifted and he didn’t want to keep his look-spheres locked on his elders’. But he couldn’t exactly stop it from happening like this.

“Are you scared of me?” his elder asked, softly. “Is that it?” Even though he said he couldn’t, he let his vision rove over somewhere else. The fingers holding onto his jaw grabbed tighter and his eyes met his elders’ _._

“No, sir.” It wasn’t him he was specifically afraid of. It was this unknown, this unknown that was following him. Grabbing him and pulling him down.

“You’re lying to me.”

“No, sir, I ain’t lying. I’m not scared of you.” He elder pulled him forward. His jaw throbbed from the sudden force. His elder’s hand was on his back shortly there after. “It’s just… I don’t actually know what’s wrong. I wouldn’t bother you about it. But I ain’t scared.”

He tried to move. Panic crashed into his skull, oh fuck. He was stuck, he couldn’t use his arms, both his wrists were being held behind his back. He wrenched forward trying to pull himself away somehow, all he succeed in doing was making his already injured shoulder hurt more and his ancestor smile.

“Well, we’ll have to change your feelings then.” He body was twisted hard, and the side of his head hit against the desk. He tried to pull his arms free from where they were pinned against his back, held in the very unmovable palm of his ancestor. His breathing jumped to fast, his heart beating so fast he swore he could feel it in his temple.

“One of these days, I should learn patience,” his elder said, like an internal thought made external. He tried squirming to get himself out of the pin, and that just made his ancestor laugh. “I’ll make you a deal, little one: if you escape, you’re done. If you can’t, well then, you’re not.”

He tried to pull himself free again and the hand holding on to his arms pressed down. Crushing his ribs into the metal of the desk, making him have to gasp for breath. He tried pulling up and to the sides, but every moment he struggled the hand pressed down harder and he swore he could feel his ribs about to break from the pressure. He went slack.

“Are you stuck? Do you need someone to come and rescue you?” He tried to ignore how belittling it sounded. Panic was bubbling in his stomach and he could feel his body reacting to fear. He was shaking, just slightly, but he was sure his ancestor could feel it.

He closed his eyes and waited for the violence to be over. He thought back to Alternia, he thought back to anything. He was sure this time his arm was going to get broken. That would be a pain he couldn’t ignore everything until when it happened, he’d come back, he was sure.

His ancestor tutted. “You don’t get to close your eyes and will this away.” His free hand was on Gamzee’s hip. He strained his body trying to pull away from the touch. The hand moved up his side and he tried to shift away from it. He twitched to the side as a claw just glanced over his side along the seam of his shirt.“You will be fucking present and center for the whole thing. If you let yourself slip away, I’ll make sure to bring you back. Now be a good boy.”

The hand pulled off his arms and he reacted out of instinct; he threw his arms to his sides and dropped down low to the ground, and he attempted to get away. His ancestor caught him around the shoulders and slammed him on to the metal of the desk again.

He cursed himself for being stupid enough to think that would work. His arms were situated behind his back again. He tried to pull them free. He should have just stayed, gotten whatever broken, and then they could have carried on.

“If you’re going to play that way…” His ancestor pulled him up by his forearms, his thighs digging into the edge of the desk, his shoulders straining from the position. His already injured shoulder popped; it left his vision white for the briefest of moments. The other hand ripped into the fabric covering his chest; that brought him right back.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He was slammed forward onto the desk again; the tattered remains of his shirt clung desperately to his skin, but that was just as futile as every one of his attempts to fight. His elder ripped the rest of it off and threw it on the floor. Claws tracing over his throbbing shoulder, he closed his eyes, taking a sharp inhale as they pressed into the skin.

The hand holding his arms exchanged for the other. Clawed fingers traced along his hips before pushing to the waistband. He started kicking then, desperately thinking: no, this wasn’t something that was going to be happening. This couldn’t.

His ancestor was immune to everything, and Gamzee’s pants found their way to his knees, thus tangling up any attack he might have. He still tried to kick, but gravity worked against him and just pulled the fabric down lower.

He could feel eyes on him, he could feel them appraising him even as he struggled. He could feel tears in his eyes, and a scream get stuck somewhere between existence and a want. He kicked his legs up one last time. His bloodpusher was beating erratically, he’d either die from it seizing or this was going to kill him. His ancestor’s hand was on his hip again and slowly sliding down his ass to his thighs. Nudging them apart.

He tried squeezing them closed, the response was a claw against his seedflap. He let his legs be forced apart. Rot and bile creeping up his throat, and he couldn’t help the sob that accompanied the motion. He kept his eyes closed; if he didn’t see it, it wasn’t real. It wouldn’t be happening. His ancestor’s hand moved up.

“Do you know what you’ll be doing next?” his ancestor offered, and he didn’t even make an attempt to respond. It would have come out broken up with sobbing he was trying desperately to hide. Not for any other reason than he could hide it.

“No response. That must mean you don’t know. I’ll tell you. First you’ll cry, then you’ll scream, then you’ll beg.” Gamzee’s breathing hitched, swallowing down the tears and disgust he felt. “I wonder if you were worth the wait. Ever let anything crawl up into you?”

He bit his lip; he wouldn’t fall for this, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Without warning or any preparation a finger pushed against him, sending all sorts of weird and mixed signals to his thinkpan and he gasped, all cracked and broken from tears he was hiding.

His elder’s finger ran along the slit, making him tremble in fear. This shouldn’t be happening, and really nothing as deadly as one of those claws should be anywhere near anything so sensitive. He held his breath trying to keep himself from flat-out sobbing, he shook his head.

“Was that a response to my question, or your lamest attempt to fight yet?” He nodded. It didn’t give an answer, he was trying to say it was a response. Maybe if he just played a little of this game it wouldn’t come to pass. “Well, that’s helpful, give me your voice. Answer the question.” He exhaled and it clicked in his throat, heavy with sadness and anxiety. The finger turned into two, stroking along him, and he could feel his body betraying him.

He mentally screamed at it, this wasn’t wanted, stop reacting. It didn’t listen, he squeezed his eyes shut. The hand holding his arms pressed down and he whined as his ribs groaned under the weight. He shook his head again. He couldn’t talk, he wasn’t sure if he opened his mouth if words would come out. He held his breath again, trying to make the tears stop, trying to take control of some part of himself. But every time he got close his elder made sure he would start sobbing again, even if it was just to himself.

“I’ve got time to make you talk. I’ve got time to make you sing.” His body was interested enough in the actions of his ancestor that a rogue finger started to slip between the folds. He had never felt so betrayed in his life. “I wonder if I hadn’t taken an interest in you if you would have survived. I, personally, don’t think you would have. I think that means you owe me your life.”

That made fresh tears come to his eyes, and he swallowed bitterly trying to push them back down. He could feel that pulling sensation inside of him, the one that told him that his body was a fucking traitor. He could almost feel his elder’s grin. “Funny, isn’t it? The only reason you’re alive is because I wanted to do this to you.” A finger ran along the part of his bulge that had slid out. “Seems as if you wanted me to do it, too.”  
  
He couldn’t hold in that sob. He shook his head violently, it wasn’t what he wanted, his body was just fucking stupid. His elder spared him a chuckle for his effort. Finger-tips still sliding along parts of himself he really didn’t want to think about right now. That made them real, that made this real. His body was betraying him more, he could feel his thighs tense, a finger dipping deeper into the folds.

“You don’t have to lie or be ashamed, little one. I can feel that you do. It’s better if you just admit it to yourself.” Apparently, his body was open enough to the idea his elder could push a finger in. “You’re already nearly ready.”

Gamzee’s shoulders shook from tears, and he couldn’t even hide them anymore. This whole thing would be a lot more bearable if he’d just stop talking. If he’d stop saying things that weren’t true. His body was wrong, he didn’t want this. The finger moved inside him, all ridges and roughness, in something that wasn’t even fully ready for it. Pressing into places he had never touched before. Making his breathing speed up even if he didn’t want it to, even as he tried to hold his breath to make it stop.

“Willing to admit it yet? I told you how bad it is for you to deny the body its urges.” His stomach tensed as the finger rubbing against the underside of his quickly-uncoiling bulge moved down and pushed into him. He bit his lip. It didn’t fit and his body tried to revolt and push it out. Mind and body were on the same page for a moment, but his ancestor persisted and soon it relaxed against the motions.

He let out puffs of air, trying to keep himself in control of that. His body trembling, he didn’t even know what from, and he felt sick all over again. If those fingers pressed any deeper into him he was sure he’d throw up. Fingers moving faster in him, making his legs widen against his will. Messiahs, did some part of him want this? He couldn’t find it, but maybe it was there, lingering somewhere that he didn’t like to visit.

“You’ve never even pushed your fingers in your nook have you?” His ancestor laughed. “Not that I mind, you’d be no fun if you weren’t as tight as you are. When I move my hand you’re going to put your hands at your sides, if you fight remember I’ve got a handle on you.” He moved his fingers up against his nook wall for emphasis. The hand holding his arms moved and he swallowed. He moved his arms, palms by his head, spread out on the cold metal of the desk. “That’s a good boy. Did I finally get rid of that defiant streak in you?”

He didn’t respond, he had nothing to say. All that was in his throat was sickness and tears he was desperately swallowing so he didn’t have to face them. Fingers moved faster in him and he couldn’t control his now rapid breathing and he felt like a stranger in his own skin. His body reacting to something it wanted. His bulge was coiling around itself. He moved his head from the side and pressed his forehead against the desk. Sobs racking his body, choked on his panting.

And like that the fingers inside him pulled out.

His body felt strangely empty, his stomach lurched at the thought. He tried to tell himself it felt normal, but it didn’t. He’d never feel normal again. A hand curled in his hair and yanked his head off the desk. The weight of his elder behind him kept his thighs firmly pinned to the desk. His back arched in a way that made his core shake from the strain. A finger slid along his lips, his own genetic material sliding along his lips in a mockery of lipstick.

“Open your mouth.” He didn’t, he wouldn’t. The hand holding his hair jerked him back and he swore his spine was going to snap. “Open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and be careful. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He opened his mouth with a sputtered sob, slowly, but his ancestor was patient. The hand holding his hair yanked back once more to make him gasp to open his mouth wide enough. He stuck out his tongue. The fingers slid along it, and he understood. He didn’t want to understand but he did.

He let his tongue move, trying to ignore the taste at the top of his tongue and focus on the acidic one from the back of this throat. All salty-bitter-sweet rolled over his tongue. He cleaned off the digits, without order.

“You little overachiever.” His ancestor was chuckling. “Open your eyes.” He refused. He’d do this without prompting, he didn’t want to hear that order. He wasn’t going to see this, if he did he was going to see nothing but it for the rest of his life. This was already bad enough, he didn’t need any more and at least his vision hadn’t betrayed him yet.

When he couldn’t taste any more of his own fluids he pulled his head back and closed his mouth. He wouldn’t do any more than necessary. Necessary for him to survive this. Did he even want to survive this? He could just give up. No, he wanted to live. He wanted to go back to Alternia, go back and see his friends stay with them. Help them survive.

Another yank on his hair and he was forced back to now. Now was a bulge pressed against him through fabric. Now was too uncomfortable, he would come back when it wasn’t as– fingers slid over his eyebrows, his eyes, and pushed down on the apple of his cheeks. His eyes were forced open from the movement. Now was way too much and he could feel tears bite at him again.

His elder moved his hand away and he was forced to see where he was. Hands beside him, fingers splayed against metal, the top part of him curved awkwardly over a desk, the door maybe 20 paces away, and all of it was too far away for him to manage.

The hand in his hair tugged him back a little and his eyes followed up and back. He tried to stop himself. His elder was smiling, his hand moved to cover his mouth and his thumb slid along tear-stains that lingered on his cheeks.

“Messiahs, that’s fucking beautiful,” his elder said, but Gamzee was too busy watching lips form words he never wanted to hear. Both hands pulled away from his head and he caught himself in time not to have it drop against the desk. Now the pressure, a pressure he knew, grabbed his hips. His elder moved back and flipped him over. His back against the desk, it felt wrongly warm against him. His elder looked down at him, smiling. He couldn’t shut his eyes. He wanted too, he knew this would be the fodder of nightmares even sopor slime couldn’t erase. Even if he drowned himself in it, both internally and externally.

He manged to get control over his eyes in time to put his head against the desk and just focus on a point. He heard fabric shift and he held his breath once more. His ancestor leaned forward, looming over him. His eyes didn’t focus. They wanted to but he ignored it, forcing his eyes to not see what was in front of him. A hand around his throat brought him to now and his eyes focused.

“That’s it, you’ll keep your eyes here when they are open. I’ll even let you try to close them.” He wanted to fight, he wanted to do something, other than just stare wide-eyed at his ancestor and lay there. All compliance and obedience. But he couldn’t make any of his limbs react.

Right now he could go back over the desk and shorten those twenty-steps to ten and run, out of the room, and hide somewhere. But his limbs were frozen, completely frozen. His ancestor released his throat and he could feel the slickness of another bulge against his thigh. He turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly. A sharp smack with three fingers brought his head back to the center.

“What did I just fucking say?” It was at this point, his arms reacted to the _“we should run”_ order. In a flash he was forward. Claws in his ancestor’s arm, actually drawing blood before his throat was grabbed again and he was slammed back on to the desk.

He opened his mouth in a response to try to breathe and his hands came to his throat, trying to pull the hand from him. All his ancestor had to do was lurch up a little too fast and his head would get torn off. He struggled against the palm, gasping for breath, half-hoping that correction would come. His ancestor pulled his hand back and Gamzee was nearly hyperventilating trying to get air back into his body.

“That was stupid, wasn’t it?” his ancestor said slowly, like this was some type of lesson that would be important to him for the rest of his life. He couldn’t help the way his lip curled, baring his fangs. And another smack made that face disappear. He could taste blood when his head was moved back to looking at his ancestor.

His ancestor was back to smiling, he wiggled one of his hands right in range of sight, before he dropped it down and Gamzee’s bulge reflexively curled around it. He whined. Fuck, he had just gotten his control back. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his body down. Trying to stop his breathing from being so short and shallow. Instead that horrible slimy feeling was back on his leg. Tears came again, this time his ancestor didn’t let him hide them. He paused long enough to watch him try to fight back the tears.

“I almost wish I could do this all day, just keep making you fight yourself so desperately. You close your eyes and try to fight how your body keeps moving closer to me.” It wasn’t, he was just saying that, he didn’t want this, no part of him wanted this. “Admit it to yourself, you want to be mine.”

“Why?” his voice croaked out. He opened his eyes, looking at his ancestor, and he swore he saw his elder shudder. The bulge slid along his leg, coiling slightly.

“I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.” His elder pulled his hand from Gamzee’s bulge. He ached somewhere, wanting the touch back, but that part of him wasn’t important. “Why do trolls do anything? Because they can. And I was trying to patient with you, but you’ve forced my hand.” His ancestor moved forward, hands on either side of his body. Trapped in a very violent cage, he couldn’t make himself bite his trembling lip.

“I-I didn’t.”

His ancestor laughed and it stung, it burned deep into him. The bulge on his thigh moved up, brushing against his nook. He went back to chanting obscenities in his head. He could tell by the way it felt alone there was no way it would fit inside him.

“Oh yes you did. Acting like the beaten little dog. I didn’t even really hurt you, and it just made the want even more. If you wouldn’t have been such a tease, you might have gained yourself a few days. And a little respect. But,” his ancestor paused long enough he could feel the tip of his bulge snake into his body. “My only guess is you figured it out, and were intentionally teasing me.” More slid in and his claws dug into the desk. It didn’t hurt, not yet, and he knew it would, but it felt wrong. His face felt hot, too hot for his usual temperature.

“I wasn’t,” he managed, before holding back a shudder from his body’s double-crossing actions. “I don’t… I don’t.” He was sobbing again, as more of his body was violated.

“Yes, you do.” His ancestor’s voice was low, laced with a growl, as more slid in and Gamzee wanted to scream. “You know as well as I do this is all you’re good for.”

The time for conversation was over, now was the time for screaming as his body stretched, stretched beyond what he even thought possible. Something way too big pressing against him, tearing into sensitive walls. He hadn’t been anywhere near ready.

He tried to fight, but that only landed him with his hands pinned above his head. And the only thing he could claw into in pain was the back of his hand. His ancestor groaned, and it hung heavy in the air. His mind repeating the sound, just in case he missed it. His legs were pushed open wider, there was still more. He tried to struggle back, pull away from the bulge pushing inside him.

“You’re a flexible little shit,” his ancestor said and with his free hand pushed Gamzee’s legs open until muscle and joint refused. The bulge inside him curled in all types of vicious that made him gag. There was another surge of inches forward, and now he was going to vomit. He would have screamed but it came out strangled, his throat sore from the abuse. He was convinced it tore out of his nook and was just in his core somewhere. His ancestor paused and he fought everything in him from vomiting. He really didn’t want to be pailed in his own vomit, and he was sure that wouldn’t stop this.

“I told you I’d make you sing.” His elder’s voice by his ear, making the very core of him cold with fear. Pain subsided to numbness and he could feel his elder’s hair along his collarbone and neck. He could feel each exhale, each little movement and tic of the muscles on his ancestor’s hips.

“Please,” he whispered. He begged numbness to stay. But it abandoned him just like all the other parts of his body, as the bulge inside him curled deeply. roughly, and all he could do was breathe. Each one shuddering with whispers of sobs he couldn’t make come. His mouth felt dry, tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. His core felt like it was being consumed with agony, and slowly it moved up the rest of his body.

When he started shaking was when the bulge in him went from snaking around inside to pulling out and pushing back in. Twisting, writhing, and he was whispering broken words to himself. He didn’t even know what they were. All he could think about was the one time he’d fell asleep on the beach and woke up sun-burnt and miserable. That was what this burning felt like, only it was inside him.

A slap brought his mind out of that stupor. He was very aware of the ragged breathing of his ancestor. The noises he was making. How his hands had been released and all he had done with them was grate his claws against the metal.

His eyes met his ancestor’s for the briefest moment and he felt sick. All that sudden out-of-body feeling was gone and he was right back to the agonizing pain that made a new broken scream come to his lips. The bulge in him tearing him open over and over again, and every time he got remotely used to one place, the bulge would curve and twist and find someplace new. He could feel his legs bleeding from where his ancestor’s claws hand dug into him.

All the blood he was losing was getting quickly replaced with pain and he was sure that would be all that would pump through his veins. The hand on his leg moved and curled around his bulge and he slammed his head into the desk. No, no, he pleaded and he wasn’t sure if it was external or internal.

He could feel every muscle in him tense as it coiled around his elder’s hand. That rewarded him with a growl from his elder, his bulge slamming harder into him. Finding new spots to fill him up and torment him with.

Now his whole body was too hot for itself. He felt his hips move, move against his will, but that was par for the course. His lower lip was trembling. His ancestor’s hand pushed at the bottom of his chin, making him look into purple eyes that told him so many things he didn’t want to read, or know, or ever hear. But they were there. And he cried, claws digging into the metal of the desk. His body too hot, too full, and either he was going to vomit up his stomach or that bulge was going to come out, there wasn’t enough room for both.

Pain racked through his body as he shook, all of his muscles trembling, and a pressure inside him was building. He knew that pressure too, but it was the last thing he wanted. His ancestor just smiled at him, all pleasure and knowing. He could hear noises coming out of his throat something between growls, screams, and sobs. Those were nearly drowned out by the noises his ancestor made beside him, and the wet noise of the bulge moving inside of him.

His entire body was moving now, despite his wills to try to stop it. One of his hands responded and reached down trying to pry the hand off his bulge. He dug his claws into the flesh and his ancestor slapped it away. His legs moving without all will, kicking weakly at hips before curling in pleasure.

The bulge inside him found a new spot and a gurgle was all that was left in him, pain overriding nearly everything, everything but that very real pleasure in his core. His ancestor was pushing against him with bruising force, and time seemed horribly suspended. Suspended in this one moment: his legs trembled, his body curled towards his core and pleasure pushed past everything. He tried to speak, to say he was going to, but he couldn’t get his throat to work. His eyes closed and tears clinging to his lashes finally fell.

Everything wet gone from inside of him. All but his ancestor, who felt nearly five times too big now, as opposed to the twice as big he felt before. His ancestor moaned, and his bulge just moved harder, deeper twisting up his insides. He prayed, he just wanted it over. His body was still trembling though the pleasure was long gone. He didn’t think he could cry in pain, though it needed out of him.

“See,” his elder’s voice was once again next to his ear. Full of heat and want, and all the things that made him want to vomit again. “You couldn’t even help yourself.” Each word was punctuated with hot breath that made his skin feel cold.

His elder didn’t move his head and he was forced to hear every single noise as the bulge kept moving in him. He had nowhere to go but right here. He tried but the motions wouldn’t let him. The thrusts and snaking movement of the bulge in him were getting more and more desperate. Both of his elder’s hands were on his thighs, holding him, moving him back against the bulge. More and more motion and he felt dizzy.

He was shaking, hands clawing desperately at the air at his sides as if it would save him, gurgled chirps of pain occasionally making their way out of his throat. His ancestor was shaking, growling, but still the motion didn’t stop, and numbness was a wish he kept making. But it never seemed to come.

The final-most inches of the bulge slid into him. His ancestor moaned loudly against his ear, tongue tracing along afterwards. Gamzee’s face burned in shame and disgust. His body went slack; there was too much inside him, and he swore any moment the tip was going to come out of his mouth.

His ancestor pushed forward, groaning, and a new kind of white heat consumed his insides. Claws dug into his thighs as fluid pooled in some part of him. Just when he thought he couldn’t get any fuller, he’d be vomiting up genetic material for weeks.

His ancestor held him for a moment, breathing hard and heavy next to him, and a new wave of tears came. He didn’t want to even think how his body found anything for him to cry. His ancestor’s bulge pulled out of him slowly, which was just as agonizing as when he pushed in. He felt empty, all but where he could feel genetic material that wasn’t his,run out of his nook and make a sick dripping noise on the floor.

His ancestor was watching him and he couldn’t manage to get his legs about him, he couldn’t manage to move. He was completely at the mercy of his elder. He half-offered his throat, just so he’d kill him. His elder grabbed his ankle and pulled him to the floor. He landed with a clatter, his horns hitting the edge of the desk, but he was too numb to feel any of it.

“Go get yourself cleaned up.” His ancestor nudged him with his foot. “Then you’re coming back in here. There is going to be a change in how we work, little clown.” He tried to grip the ground and pull himself away. But everything in him was too weak. He tried again, his body failing him once more, he just wanted to curl up and just cry until some kind of feeling came back.

“Need help, little one?” It was chiding, like they were back to being normal, like he hadn’t just… Like he didn’t. Like it hadn’t happened. From somewhere in him he growled and his ancestor laughed. “Then get going.”

He failed at his attempts until his ancestor nudged him up with his foot and pushed him forward to get momentum enough he could slide out of the room. He looked at the hall; he had exactly 40 steps to walk. The thought made him curl up on the floor where he was, and just hold himself there.

He would walk those steps in a few minutes.


	17. Chapter 17

He had to crawl all 40 steps. His legs were no help, without once again flooding his veins with agony. It was slow as he pulled himself towards the bathroom, unwilling to try to stand. It would hurt more and he didn’t want to hurt. He didn’t want to crawl either, he wanted to curl up and just sleep, or cry, or do something that made him stay still. But if he took too long no doubt his elder would come to hunt him down and force him to get clean. He wanted to be alone, and really didn’t feel like seeing his ancestor again. But that wasn’t something that was going to happen. If he just got through this, he could be alone, and maybe even sleep through most of this aching.

He just had to get through it.

He pulled himself into the bathroom and looked around. He didn’t even know where to start. Everything familiar seemed foreign, and he didn’t quite feel like he was in his body. Cleaning himself up meant he’d have to look at the damage. It meant he’d have to touch parts of his body he wanted to forget. His stomach lurched unhappily, and he decided that was the first step.

It didn’t just happen, he had to force it to happen. It didn’t remove any of the weight from inside him, it didn’t clear his throat, instead it left his mouth tasting acidic and his throat sorer than before. Though somewhere in his head it had helped. He had to pull himself up, get himself to the shower, and get what was inside of him out.

He leaned against the wall, it was cool, cool enough to be comforting. Maybe if he just cleaned himself up, most of the aching would go away and he could just try to erase that. He could just push it away, push it far away in his mind, and when he was able to stand and walk normally again it would all be gone. He put his hands against the wall, eyes closed in determination and pain, and forced himself up.

His legs were shaking, he could feel wetness slide down his legs and he preferred to just think about the blood. He could handle blood. He managed to get to standing and he just breathed against the wall for a long moment. The pain went back down to something manageable. He opened his eyes and regretted it.

He caught his reflection, and he nearly just slid back to the floor resigned to waiting for his elder to come and force him clean. He swallowed dryly and looked at himself. He raised a hand to his throat, he hadn’t even realized it was bruised. He stared for a long moment before he hissed in pain as the blood coming out of him ran into the scratches on his legs. He couldn’t make himself reach down to wipe it away and ease the pain.

Instead he looked in the mirror, at himself moving, His stomach felt like it was bottoming out again. He brought both arms to his core and wrapped them around him, trying to will the feeling away; there was nothing left in him to get out that way, and he still felt full. Too full, uncomfortably full, but at the same time completely empty.

He leaned against the wall, just breathing, holding his stomach, trying to get willpower enough to walk over and clean off all the blood. To push out the blood inside him, then go back out there, and… He slammed his head back against the wall. No, he had to focus. He uncurled his arms and held onto the wall pushing himself forward. Watching himself in the mirror was watching what seemed like a stranger stumble just like he was.

He gripped the walls, the counter, anything to help him to the shower. He fought the door for a moment before pulling it open and grabbing the faucet. Hot, all the way up, as he yanked it on. He knew it was going to hurt him, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to feel clean. Even if it burnt his skin, even if it hurt. He managed to pull himself under the steaming stream of water, and he yelped from the temperature. He couldn’t reach the door to close it so instead he just let the water hit him, body getting used to the temperature. He leaned against the back wall water hitting his stomach and legs, and he closed his eyes.

He took a breath and slowly split his legs and pushed. He was half glad this was innate, because he didn’t think he could push his fingers inside himself to make the blood come out easier. He felt it mix with the water and he could hear it fall to the ground. Faster than the water, or more condensed, it didn’t matter. He could hear it. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing once more. Getting, hopefully, all of it out of him.

He had to force his hands to touch his thighs and legitimately scrub the skin, getting off any of the blood that stayed. He finally managed, his eyes still closed tightly as his hands ran over his thighs and scrubbed at the skin. He could feel scabs under his fingertips, and he scrubbed them hard enough they collapsed and broke and he was bleeding all over again. That didn’t matter. He could handle bleeding, he could handle washing his skin with his blood. It was his at least. He let his hand move up higher and he bit his lip as his fingers ran over his–

He couldn’t even think about the words without having tears fight for space in his eyes. He was already achy enough, he didn’t want to cry about it anymore. Instead he’d pretend. He’d pretend that he had to clean someone else up, this was someone else and he was helping them. He’d be fine with that.

His fingers scrubbed the skin, softer, gently like he was doing this for someone else. Not like that. He wasn’t sure if he could _ever_ do that. But he could help clean a friend up if something bad ever happened to them. He’d be real soft, real gentle. He’d tell them they’d be alright. He was there, that he’d support them. That he’d never hurt them, that he just wanted them to feel clean. Even though he knew they would never feel clean again.

He just wanted them to not feel like they were still full of the fluids of another troll. That it wasn’t lodged _so deeply_ in them that it felt like it would be there forever. He knew it hurt, and they could cry that was alright. Crying was okay. Perfectly natural to cry when a troll was in pain and with someone who wouldn’t ever hurt them. They didn’t have to be alone.

They could just lean against the wall and let him take care of them. If it got to be too much he’d stop, but he was just going to help them feel like some part of their insides was clean. All they had to do was tell him if they got scared. He’d comfort them. _It was going to be alright._ He would make sure of it. This wasn’t the end of the world, they could push through. And he was there for them. He’d stay as long as they needed.

He found himself whispering those words over and over again: “It’s gonna be alright.” He pulled his hand away from himself, tears still rolling down his cheeks, and they felt so cold compared to the water. He forced his face underneath the stream. He didn’t want cold. He wanted his skin to feel blistering hot. It would make him feel less like that stranger outside who was still stumbling around looking at itself, scared. More like he was somewhere safe.

He stayed against the wall, just watching water fall from the shower head. His external mantra went internal, and he just kept mentally chanting that he was going to be alright. The warm water, someone else here that didn’t ever want him hurt. Someone he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. Someone who wouldn’t ever make him hurt the way he was hurting, even if they did that. It wouldn’t have hurt the way that did. No, that someone would never hurt anyone without reason, and if he were here now he’d hold him and be awkward in letting him cry. But it would soothe him nonetheless.

Or maybe another troll, one who’d stay with him, arms crossed and grumbling to himself about ridiculous situations. But he’d still comfort him to the best of his ability. One who would call him stupid for crying and tell him to fight. One who would shake his head when he told him how he hurt, but he’d hold him after. It didn’t matter which, he wanted arms around him. Warm comforting arms.

Either would do.

He heard something move outside the door. He gasped and pushed his back against the wall. He waited for another noise, one that meant he was taking too long, one that meant more pain. He counted again. There was nothing there, he was hearing things. His mind playing tricks on him. He tried to wash the rest of himself off, attempting to ignore the pain inside. He decided that whatever that noise was, was a warning and he needed to go. Slowly, he pulled himself out of the shower, he shut off the water, and pulled himself out to grab a towel.

It hit him he didn’t have clothes, and then it hit him that he didn’t even know if he could get his legs into pants. He kept the towel around him, clutching the wall, going to his block. One of his shirts would work, it was long enough.

He slipped into his room, feeling like that stranger looking at things that he just couldn’t seem to understand anymore. He grabbed the shirt and struggled to get it over his horns, head, and on his arms. He grabbed a pair of underwear too, and stepped in and had to nearly sit to pull them up. Once he was dressed, he left. He didn’t want to be around things that reminded him of safety or of home. He just wanted to get this meeting over with and find a place and curl up and hope hive-mind nightmares were better than the ones his thinkpan was going to give him.

He was slow getting back; walking came easier, but he didn’t want to go back any faster. It made him face something he didn’t want to. His elder had… wait. He paused in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He had touched him.

Dammit, did everyone know but him? Eridan had asked, and Equius had said… Fuck, he was blind. Was it that obvious? Did he…? No, he hadn’t wanted it, no part of him wanted it. But he reacted. His body reacted. Was some part of him okay with this, some part of him trying to get those affections from his elder?

He slid down the wall. He could have fought harder, he could have gotten away, but he couldn’t make himself. His breathing was speeding up again and he forced himself to count. Right now he had to go back to that room, right now he had to finish up whatever his ancestor wanted him too. Then he could have as many bloodpusher seizures and hyperventilation fits as he wanted. But if his elder had to come looking for him, he was going to be in another world of hurt. He didn’t know how that would happen, but he was sure it was going to.

He pushed himself up the wall again and took the final steps to the office block. He stood by the door, he couldn’t force his body to go in. He was trying, basically mentally yelling at it to move. But it didn’t, it refused. He had to do this. He couldn’t be paralyzed here, if his elder found him the result would be just the same as if he was in the hallway.

His foot crossed the threshold and his body lurched to a start and he found himself back in the room. The very real moments that just occurred came flooding back to him. He closed his eyes and tried to fight the images in his mind. He took another breath and took the steps forward he needed to. His eyes opened, then there was a hand on his cheek. Once again his head was pulled up, forced to look his ancestor in the eyes. That cruel smile was back, and he pressed his lips together to stop from trembling, though it didn’t succeed.

“And you come back quickly too.” There was humor in his voice. “You can be such a good boy when you try.” He couldn’t look at his elder anymore, it hurt too much. “But that’s an aside, now I’m going to explain something to you. I am going to explain it once and only once. Do you understand?” He nodded. “Speak.” The growl made Gamzee’s bloodpusher jump to his throat. And he was sure his feet got off the ground too.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled. The fingers pinching his chin jerked his head over so he was forced to look at his ancestor once more.

“Some things haven’t changed, little one. You’ll come when you’re called and still do as you’re told. You swore on everything you have that you would do exactly as I ordered. I expect you to abide by it or you will make me hurt you, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” His voice sounded like that hadn’t just happened. It sounded like he had just been slapped for being stupid. Not like his elder had, that they had, that it had… He cursed mentally and took a breath.

“No, sir.” His elder moved his hand off Gamzee’s chin and grabbed his sides. He closed his eyes again. Focusing on the lights he would see if he pressed hard enough, instead of the touch and the right then and now. His elder set him on his lap and he could feel all sorts of wrongs pass through his head. His breathing was slow, counted, but his pulse was pounding in his ears.

“Before you raise your hands to fight me, I want to let you know something.” Gamzee quickly tightened his hands into fists to stop them from attacking; he hadn’t even realized he was making the motion.

“If you fight too much, I’m going to think you’re nothing more than a pailslut. If you are you’ll force me to pass you around the lowblooded prisoners. Their final bit of fun before execution. Do you know what they’d do to you? They’d have the brief chance at getting back at a highblood. You think what I did to you hurt? No, I was gentle. What they’ll do to you is far worse. Maybe they’d see how many of them they could fit in your nook. Or they’d all just keep taking turns, not letting you sleep until you are more bloated with genetic material than the Mother Grub’s fertilization-sacks. Then I’ll make you walk back here through the entire ship leaking out like the little shit you are. Do you want that?”

His elder grabbed his face again, this time claws dug in where his ear connected to his face, and his eyes opened with his gasp and they found his elder’s gaze. Gamzee’s eyes were still wide as his elder pulled his hand away. He managed words, though his throat felt like it was swelling closed.

“N-No, sir.”

“I’m glad you have some of your priorities straight.” His elder sighed, all put-out and frustrated. Gamzee could feel his claws making little cuts into his palms. “Still, I can’t slack on punishing you, lest you learn any bad behaviors.” He tried not to look confused at his ancestor’s words. He knew it didn’t work. “For that, I won’t explain this to you. I’ll leave you to your… wits.”

“I – I ,” He had words, but the escaped him. Either his ancestor’s hands were forcing them away or something else was. But the claws on his hips, making his bloodpusher shudder in his chest, were definitely distracting.

“Do you have something to say, or are you just going to stutter at me?”

“No sir, I ain’t got nothing to speak.”

There was a long pause, one that he wasn’t even going to try to understand. He wasn’t going to try to understand anything right now. No matter how much some small voice in his head was telling him he should really analyze this situation and take steps to figure it out. Doing that meant thinking about it and he didn’t want to think about it, not here, not now. Not with hands moving up his sides. Making him shudder from sensation, fear, and a list of wrong reasons.

It wasn’t fair, honestly, he’d been doing so good. He’d been progressing at everything his elder threw at him and yet here he was. This was now what he got. What he was only good for, and he didn’t even know what that was. He had a general idea what that was. But it wasn’t fair. Or right. He was fighting tears again. He closed his eyes and counted again.

His breaths were still shaky as his elder’s hands roamed across his skin. He wished he could pretend those touches were happening to someone else, someone stranger. But he wouldn’t even put a stranger through this. That was especially rude if he’d been subconsciously asking for this.

“Stop sniffling. You’re fine. See.” The hands roamed along his back, and back to the sensitive cartilage on his sides. His mouth was getting dry again, as feeling shot downward. “No pain.” The hands kept moving as if to prove the point further. Instead, he was thinking he could escape now; he wasn’t really being held, and yet he didn’t move. Instead he just trembled in sensation on his elder’s lap as his hands kept roving.

He bit his lip and held his breath. He opened his eyes again and focused somewhere on purple and black stripes around the middle of his elder’s core. Not fighting, not resisting, just letting himself be touched. Claws ran along his lower back, up between his shoulders and down his spine, making him shudder.

He didn’t know what he was trying to do. He didn’t know if he was accepting this, wanting this, scared of this, or what was happening. He was just sitting being touched, and that was as far as things went in making sense. Even that was stretching it. He bit the inside of his lip.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered the words, before thought caught up to his mouth. He swallowed, unsure of what he apologized for, not knowing why he said it. He hoped he wouldn’t be asked, he wouldn’t have an answer. He was on the verge of tears, constantly it felt like, his breathing broken up by choked sobs and he just kept swallowing them down.

His elder said nothing; instead, one of the hands slid down his back and wormed its way under his thighs and ass. He picked him up until he was at face level with the older troll. It took him a long moment to make his eyes meet his elder’s. But the older troll didn’t stop touching him. Soft, gentle, kind, in a didn’t-make-sense-with-what-just-happened sort of way.

His elder leaned forward, enough to place a kiss on his forehead, just as gentle as the rest of his motions. Gamzee realized how tense he was, how his shoulders were tight, his arms stiff and straight. He couldn’t implore his body to relax. Which was fine, for all he knew he was going to be dropped. Instead his elder set him back on his lap.

“Go.” His elder’s hands removed themselves off his skin. His shirt was still hiked up on his hipbones. “I’ll call you if I need you.” He nodded, then had to force himself to actually touch the older troll to get off the chair. He had trouble getting his legs to work right without his core hurting. He hobbled out of the block and back to the common area, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He looked around the room, clutching the wall. He looked for a dark corner, somewhere out of sight. Somewhere he could curl up and sleep. Deciding on a relatively unused one he eased himself to the ground and brought his knees up to his chest. Alleviating the pressure inside his body, he held on to his knees trying to be as small as trollishly possible. He closed his eyes and hoped he could just sleep.

Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and this would all just be a nightmare. Or he’d wake up and find himself back in his hive on Alternia and he’d tell his friends he was going to skip conscription. That he’d stay with them, protect them, make sure they stayed okay.


	18. Chapter 18

A nudge woke him up. He scrambled up to his knees and back against the wall, his body tense. His bloodpusher was beating way too fast almost instantly. There was a snort of laughter above him and he couldn’t bring himself to look up.

“It’s amazing how fast you wake up now.” He dropped his shoulders with a sigh, and forced himself to look in the general direction of his elder.

“What do you want?” Between each word was a pause. He tried to give his voice any force but he couldn’t get it to raise above a cracked mumble. There was a pause, a too-long pause that stretched to infinity.

“Stand up.” The pause collapsed on itself, and settled into a black-hole-like singularity in his stomach. The only thing it couldn’t seem to get rid of was the soreness and pain that lingered. His legs were shaking as he tried to straighten his core, his body felt like it was about to fall apart. He managed to get himself planted on his feet. “Arms up.” There was reluctance, but he couldn’t fight here. He was in a corner, and his ancestor was stronger and deceptively fast.

The threat from earlier was still in his mind; if his elder was willing to put him in the cells with the prisoners, there was no longer a limit to just what could happen to him. He shouldn’t have slept, he should have thought about what he was going to do, instead he had to go with his stupid knee-jerk reaction and lift up his arms.  
  
His shirt was yanked off him. A claw hooked in the shorts he was wearing, and gravity helped push them to the floor. He waited for the hands to come back and pin him against the wall. Once again feeling that weight, heaviness, and pain against him. For all his waiting, it didn’t come. Instead he stood, arms at his sides completely naked, looking at the skin between his elder’s eyebrows, confused, embarrassed, and scared.

He understood two of those three emotions. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was embarrassed. His ancestor had already seen him completely naked and had done things to him. But there he was, a blush creeping to his cheeks, unwanted and baffling. He just stood there waiting, not brave enough to say anything or move, wondering why he had the feelings he did.

When one of his ancestor’s hands touched his cheek, Gamzee jumped back, half expecting a slap, half expecting to be pinned. His elder waited for him to settle before he did it again. Crouching just slightly, rubbing his thumb over the darker shade on Gamzee’s cheeks before a finger drifted to his lips.

“Open your mouth.” Once again he went with a knee-jerk reaction, and after a brief pause did so. His jaw was grabbed and forced further open, one finger pulled back his lips just slightly, pressing against his cheek. He tried not to taste it, or think about it, or really do anything other than let his ancestor finish whatever he was doing. His elder’s hand pulled back and he stood up as straight as he usually did once more. “Follow.”

He did so, kicking his shorts off his feet, understanding something. Something that he didn’t put much thought into; he was to walk around naked. Okay. He could handle that. He’d walked around naked plenty before.

His lusus hadn’t actually told him it was proper for trolls to wear clothes until he was nearly two sweeps old and playing by the ocean. Close enough he got growled at for getting near the water, and he remembered being nosed inside. The first time he wore his sign there was a tear on the left side of the shirt. He used to love wearing that shirt because the tear was there. It was one of his only gifts from his lusus for a long while. He remembered when he outgrew the shirt, how sad he’d been. He’d kept it around until conscription came. Whenever he’d get too lonely sometimes he’d pick it up and thumb the teethmark. His lusus did care, he just had to be out in the ocean, something out there was more pressing than him. He was probably keeping seadwellers from getting too close.

“On your knees.” The words shocked him back from the memory his mind had gone to. His eyes flashed up to his ancestor. He just stared, no emotions running through him, he wanted there to be something. He knew he should have some. Instead he just stared, long enough that he could watch his elder’s features change and anger filter into his eyes. That made an emotion appear. Fear.

He dropped down to his knees, gritting his teeth as he landed hard against the floor. His body tensed once more, eyes on the ground, hoping that the anger would just disappear. He tried to summon something to his mind to quell the pounding in his head.

Fingers looped in hair and claws scratched into his scalp. He flinched, the grip just grew tighter and he felt his body be lurched up. His feet hanging loosely in the air, once his ancestor finished bringing him up once again to eye level.

His breathing was making his body shake and he tried to calm it, it hurt to move that much. His chin was forced against his neck from the angle and pain shooting around the sides of his head to the back, making his head fuzzier then it was before. A whine escaped his lips, though he really didn’t want to make any noise.

“Now, I can be understanding. And I can tolerate a lot of things. I can even be patient and gentle with you. You’re a special little circumstance. You should feel blessed to warrant any attention from me whatsoever. Especially with how kind I am being with your repeated fuck-ups. But one thing I cannot stand or tolerate in any form are trolls who blatantly lie. Only a few hours ago, I explained the very basics of this to you, before you went and fucked up again. You said you would follow the rules. Here you are already intentionally or moronically breaking them. I don’t know how to make this any simpler for you.”

His body was trembling, not only from pain and the general weightlessness, but he could feel the shake in his ancestor’s hand. He was suddenly very glad for his elder’s patience with him. If he didn’t have it he was sure his neck would break from being shaken from that position.

“I order, you do. I didn’t ask for you to think about it. I didn’t ask for you to pause. I said, and then you do. Instantaneous reaction. Is this fucking simple enough? Do I have to dumb it even further down for you? I’m not even sure how to do that. Which, I think, is an amazing level of idiocy I’ve never actually witnessed before.”

Gamzee couldn’t stop the tremors in his shoulder as tears fought for purchase and won without him even putting up a fight. He wanted to apologize but he couldn’t. His throat was too tight to speak, and breathing was getting difficult. He just wanted to be put down, he’d do as he was told. If he just did he could keep the other troll happy. Because when he showed up after he cleaned himself up, so soon, and he had done what he was told, he hadn’t been hurt. Most of the times he’d been hurt there was a reason. And if he was sending those signals to his ancestor and he behaved, who knew what might come of it?

“Or perhaps you’re just acting out for attention.” He could feel his body be lowered. Not to the floor, though he wished it would come. His body tensed reflexively as his elder’s other hand came to his side. It slid down to his hip and he felt a chill roll over his body and settle into his bones. “There are better ways to get my attention.” The hand slid along his thigh and he could feel himself trying to clamp his legs closed. He was shaking, and whether it was from his body’s reaction to this or the tremor in his elder’s hand he didn’t know. The trembling prevented his legs from closing properly.

His elder moved his fingers over Gamzee’s already sore inner thighs before they stroked against protective skin. His fingers were gentle, petting sore flesh, nearly soothing. Which Gamzee was thankful for, his body too battered to handle much more. He couldn’t ignore the way his hips twitched at the touches. It didn’t exactly hurt. There was hurt, there was no denying it. But there was pleasure too. The knowledge and feeling of it echoed around his thinkpan.

“But,” the hand toying with him pulled away. “I can’t reward you for breaking the rules.” Gamzee felt a noise get caught in his throat. As wrong as all of that had felt, it had, at the same time, felt good. His thinkpan was moving past confused and moving on to totally lost.

The hand holding his hair let up. He worried for a splinter of a second that he’d fall further. Instead his feet quickly found the ground. He stood idle for a moment, trying to make up his mind with what he should do, though he couldn’t seem to grasp at it.

Another bout of chills charged through his spine as he lowered himself down to his knees. Some part of him feeling disgusting. But he was already dreading what he knew was coming; he just waited for it to come and inevitably the pain would be gone and he’d be fine. Then he’d all behave and this wouldn’t happen again. That had to be it, that was really the only thing that made any sense to him. He could hear his ancestor shuffle with something. But he didn’t look up to find out.

“Give me your wrists.”

He raised his hands above his head. His response was nearly immediate, he’d be good and this would be over. Then he’d be fine, and he could find somewhere and sleep again. Something cold touched his wrists and he forced himself not to jerk away from the feeling. Both of his wrists got the similar cold treatment. Though after one he felt the weight and understood.

There was a click and both of his wrists were secured in the cuffs. His elder released his hands and he slowly brought his arms down, able to stop the movement without a jump or any type of excessive shaking when told. The word didn’t come until both his hands were level with his collarbone.

A hand on his horn yanked him forward and he wobbled. Without his arms to brace him, his nose hit the ground. Pain blossomed behind his eyes and right underneath, but he just lifted his chin. That would dull the pain for now. His elder leaned down and he could see a chain wrap around the leg of the table. But it wasn’t tied off. It was tight, holding him only about a three inches from the leg.

“Stay.” He wasn’t about to move, even before the order was issued.

He leaned against his forearms, putting his forehead against the floor, listening to steps walk off and movement. The only motivation was to keep himself from getting too hurt in whatever this process was. He heard movement come back towards him and he didn’t look up to see what was going on. He knew he would more than likely be told, and if he just stayed right there in the same position he was in when his ancestor left he could show he was behaving.

“Head up.” He moved his head up and craned his neck as high as he could with it being tied. He managed to look somewhere around his elder’s chin. He could plainly see what was held in his elder’s hand. He wasn’t all that hungry, though his head was telling him that even though he wasn’t hungry he should accept the food and wolf it down.

“If you’re going to have the mental capacities of an animal, then you’ll be treated as such.” Weight sunk into Gamzee’s chest. He waited for the plate to be set down, or for his ancestor to move. When nothing came quickly he nodded and mumbled that he understood.

His ancestor smiled the smallest amount, he could hardly see it but it was there. He watched his ancestor tip the plate. He could feel that moment of dread. The one that told him that this order was going to be more complicated than what was first let on. There was a wet smack as whatever he would be eating landed on the floor, some of it splattering on his face and hands.

His elder then promptly went to ignore him, his foot holding the chain down on the floor. Gamzee crawled forward, tucking his elbows between his legs. He wasn’t one for a sterile living environment but he had his limits. The entire time he had been here, things hadn’t been cleaned, and he highly doubted that was a variation from the norm. Anyway, he wasn’t really hungry. So he would skip it, and it clean up later.

There was a soft growl. A warning, and he understood he wasn’t going to get out of this. He didn’t even know if he could swallow, his throat still hurt from all the shouting he had done earlier. He leaned forward and tried to pull food between his teeth, which was far more difficult than it looked with the angle.

Swallowing was just as difficult, but he seemed to be chewing and grabbing another bite faster than he’d prepared his body for. His throat was either too sore or too swollen to make swallowing simple and he didn’t want to risk leaning his body upward for fear of his ancestor’s reaction.

He managed half of it before his mouth and throat were too dry to carry on. He glanced over at his ancestor, who seemed to be dutifully ignoring him. Either he needed something to drink or he was finished. He tried to muster up enough saliva to fill the hollow that was quickly forming in his stomach.

His pause went long enough that his elder noticed him, and smirked the slightest amount before setting down a bowl of water. Gamzee tried not to look as thankful as he felt. He shouldn’t be thankful for this. He shouldn’t be thankful when his elder was treating him with decency. That kind of shit should be common sense. Still he half-crawled, half-pulled himself over to the bowl. His fingers ghosted around the edges to tip it toward his mouth.

“Tell me, do beasts have hands?” It wasn’t a question. He released his hold on the bowl and looked up at his elder. “Or can they speak?” Gamzee shook his head ,frustrated. He looked at the bowl quizzically, trying to figure out how he’d manage to get any water down his maw.

He scooted forward a fraction. He had to lift himself to his elbows and put his face nearly in the water, managing to get the smallest of drinks, and successfully got most of his face wet in the process. He attempted again and managed it easier this time, getting more to drink and less everywhere else. It wasn’t water, but it was liquid and that’s what his throat needed. It tasted strange and he couldn’t quite place it, sweet but very salty.

He glared over at the food and hated the part of himself that was starving. But he was both starving and thirsty. He honestly couldn’t decide which urge was stronger, and both were uncomfortable. But at least the water was in a bowl. Though he had a feeling he’d be here until he’d eaten and drank everything that was given to him. He should just bite the bit and get it over with, and then he would be done. This day would pass and he wouldn’t have to fight through this again.

He scooted back over to the food and tried to keep his eyes closed and grabbed at the meat and whatever else as fast as possible. Too-big bites that made swallowing more difficult. But once he got this over with he could sleep, and the longer he shuffled between both food and water, the more he could feel himself getting tired.

His neck was hurting from the strain he had to put on it. His thinkpan felt like it was growing three sizes too large for his skull and it was making his head pound and him feel like he was spinning. Still he persevered, splitting his time between both. His knees gave a dull throb and his shoulder, that had been bugging him for nearly a week and even worse now, was letting him know it wasn’t happy with him.

By the time he finished off all but a bite of the food he couldn’t move as easily, and his head was throbbing. But he finally felt like he had gotten something he had desperately needed. His body relaxed against that drowsiness that just seemed to appear. He was aware he had slept, but he had slept on the floor, it probably really wasn’t any kind of sleep. He nearly stumbled over his own elbows as he moved from water to food.

“Make sure you get all of it.” Gamzee processed the words slowly, he would have nodded but his head felt heavy. He looked at the floor for a long moment to see if he had missed anything. He didn’t see anything that looked like food. A weight landed on his neck and shoulders and pushed his head toward his hands. It stopped when the tip of his nose was against the ground.“Clean it up.”

He opened his mouth and ran his tongue along the tile. At least that’s what he thought it was. Despite how relaxed he felt, even with the situation and the pressure pushing his head down, he was having problems breathing. Still he kept moving, ignoring the pressure against him. His tongue roved over where he thought the food had been.

The floor tasted like some sick combination of grime and a cleaner he had never seen used. But it didn’t bother him. It should have bothered him. His tongue ran along the area, not picking up anything that remotely reminded him of grub, just the dirt-like cleaner. Still he repeated the action until the weight moved off his back. The chain holding his loosened.

“Up.” His elbows hurt from how long they had been bent and he was heavier than normal, still he pulled himself up. His body swaying trying to keep its balance. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. The last time he’d felt this out of his own self was back on Alternia. He was younger and he had one pie too many and he spent the night amazed by colors but unable to move.

But he wasn’t on sopor here, and on top of that it didn’t come with this weird desire to smile and talk though his tongue felt too big for his mouth. He had lost his mind, officially lost it. He was surprisingly okay with that. He couldn’t keep himself upright; he fell to the ground though he tried and failed to catch himself. He told his limbs he needed to move back up, and he could feel his eyes closing. The floor would be a good place for him anyway.


	19. Chapter 19

He was slow to wake up at first. He was stretching, wondering why he had a slight headache, and also wondering when he fell asleep, when he realized he had too much room. His eyes opened quickly and he regretted it, his head pounding. He closed them quickly and relied on other senses. Wherever he had slept left his shoulder and neck sore. He shifted, pulling himself up to a sitting position and he realized his hands were bound.

Vague recollections of the night before filtered into his mind. He didn’t understand what happened, why he passed out, or maybe he just fell asleep and he was missing the end of the conversation. His wrists were still decorated in metal and judging by the temperature of the floor he still didn’t have any clothes.

He took a catalog of what he did remember, his elder had woken him up from his corner nap, he’d been an idiot, and then… He decided he wouldn’t remember all of that too distinctly, but he got the gist of how his evening was spent.

He opened his eyes, slowly, kneading at sore muscles on his shoulders. He realized he had no idea where he was. That summoned a twisting fear in him. Had he done something to piss off his elder and get himself stuck some place far worse? He looked around quickly, his neck throbbing harder with the motion. He tried pulling himself to stand, and found the chain on the shackles connected to a loop on the floor and the farthest he could get was half kneeling.

His breathing sped up; did he fuck up that badly? Was he locked naked near the cellblock and was going to get himself punished? Still there were no trolls around, and there was no such thing as alone on an Alternian ship. The room was more like a closet, albeit a big empty one. He could see the border of the door, though it was too far for him to reach, even more impractical with his hands tied where they were. He scooted closer to the peg in the ground. He played with the chain, trying to figure out how to unlock it. He vaguely remembered the first chain on his shackles had slack. This one didn’t.

He looked around again, hoping he’d see some new evidence as to where he was and what was about to happen. There was nothing new, just blank gray walls, floor, and ceiling. A metal peg in the middle of the room, and him with a chain and shackles.

He was thirsty, sore, and confused.

All he could do was wait. Wait for something or someone to get him. Wait for whatever to come to fruition and get himself to understand why this was happening, and what would happen next. Well, even if he was going to be passed over to another troll, he should at least not hurt as badly as he did.

His finger dug into the meat of his shoulders and worked to get rid of the pain. What bothered him most about the whole thing, though he knew it should have been something else, was the fact he didn’t know what time it was. He cleared his mind, trying to make his body hurt less than it already did. Rubbing sore muscles to the best of his ability with cuffed hands was nearly useless. But there was a little wiggle room, to hopefully help him feel a bit better.

Vague pictures fleeted through his mind. The images were dark, confusing, and he couldn’t make much sense of them. There was a room he was trapped in his nightmares too. Only it was bigger than this one. Much bigger. He was just as lonely in his dream as he was in the waking world, only he was stuck on a table, or some type of stage as opposed to the floor, which meant this wasn’t a dream.

He gritted his teeth, releasing the tension from his shoulders was making his head fuzzy. There had been blood everywhere. The longer he thought on it the more sense it made. He hadn’t moved from the platform, and there was blood everywhere. He closed his eyes, trying to grasp the image. Skeletons were being slaughtered, the skeletons covered in blood from his last nightmare.

They were torn to bits, and all around him the room was drenched in their blood. He was just lying on the table like this was normal, like there would be nothing bad happening to him, even though the sounds of bones being torn apart and crushed and the squelching sound of remaining flesh being torn echoed in his ears. He didn’t feel any of that peace he had felt in his nightmare now.

Then it stopped. That was as far as he could remember. The violence stopped, and maybe that was the point he woke up? He slid down to the floor on one of his sides and attempted to get his shoulder to relax, though most of the pain he was feeling was lessening. He switched sides and rotated his other shoulder. He rolled to his back and pulled his shoulders down.

He just lay on his back, and could do nothing other than wait. Wait for either a strange troll to come in and move him, or for his ancestor to come and do the same. He tried to relax and let his limbs settle. Hopefully, the stress would just roll off him and he could stop having that lingering pain. He could still hear the tearing of flesh in his ears, still hear wet ripping noises as skin, sinew, and flesh were all pulled apart.

The dream hadn’t shocked him awake like the other nightmare he had, but as far as nightmares went it was surprisingly calm. He had been at peace, waiting on the table or platform. Patiently waiting for whatever was killing all those skeletal things to come for him. That unnerved him. It had been like a type of nirvana waiting for the monster that haunted the shadows to come for him.

Maybe it wouldn’t, maybe that was the moral of the dream. He didn’t honestly know, and he wanted to think of something else, but his other option was the confusion he was feeling over his elder and he didn’t feel like having that discussion with himself again.

Though he should not have knee-jerk reactions. He should think ahead, and the answer was simple. If his elder asked, he did. He didn’t want or need to be punished anymore. So if he just followed orders it would help. He heard the door open and he turned his head and opened his eyes. His elder stood in the doorway, and he couldn’t help but feel some type of relief. He’d rather deal with him than an unknown troll. Or worse, a drove of unknown trolls.

His ancestor had to duck to fit into the room, his gait slow enough it unnerved Gamzee. He just watched him approach and felt his bloodpusher flutter in his chest. The pin was pulled up from the ground and he understood how he was locked down; there was no way he would have had the leverage or the strength to pull it out himself to unwrap the chain from the stake.

His elder said nothing as he undid the chain, he didn’t even really regard him. He waited calmly for any indication of what he was supposed to do. He would behave today, and not get any type of punishment. Then things could go back to normal, hopefully his elder wasn’t pissed off about him falling asleep when he did. If he remembered everything right he just sort of passed out. His head felt like swimming in muddy water trying to go through those memories, and he could have been very wrong.

“Stand up.” His elder’s voice was soft, relatively normal, and though he still had a chill from the words his body relaxed the slightest amount. So far no anger, so far so good. Maybe he’d manage to get through this yet. He shifted and managed to slither up to his feet. His bloodlink, holding the chain like a lead, pulled him towards the exit.

He realized as soon as he stepped out of the room that this was part of their shared common area, though this was close to where his elder slept, and that sent a fresh wave of panic into his bloodpumper. He was sure it was getting tired of his mood swings. Soon it would go rebel, fighting a massive war up and in him, until its conditions changed. The thought, for the briefest moment, made a smile ghost across his lips, before he realized what his face was doing and stopped it.

He was pulled into a bathroom and he understood. He tried not to be embarrassed as he realized his elder wasn’t going anywhere. He focused on how weird it was to operate things with bound hands. He thought about nothing more than the task at hand and nothing about a gaze that seemed to be burning into his core and feasting on his insides.

That metaphor sent some strange sickness to his head and stomach. Like it was familiar. Like that gaze had already done that, that it had already ate away at his insides and he was nothing more than reanimated remains. And though some things had happened, he had felt emptiness, but it wasn’t the same type of emptiness. This was closer to his chest and less in his stomach. This was in his mind, sprouting like a plant and settling in deep roots.

Showering with the equivalent of one hand was difficult. Everything felt like it took twice as long and he really didn’t want to take that much time. The faster and more efficient he was, the less likely that his elder would cut the action short and/or get irritated.

He managed after what felt like ages, but his elder wasn’t impatient, so it couldn’t have been. He reached forward and shut off the water and walked out. That wrong embarrassment was back, and he looked up at his elder. Some part of him hoped that his ancestor would notice how hard he was trying and let him have a day without. Another part of him wanted to ask him for reprieve. He wouldn’t, he didn’t trust his voice would keep his elder happy.

He just stood there, water dripping off him, feeling awkward. Eventually a towel was deposited on his head and he set himself to dry off. Even though cloth covered his face he could still feel the staring. Realization dawned on him slowly, but when it hit he was left nearly breathless.

It wasn’t going to change. He wasn’t going to get out of this and get back to how it was. The thought made his skin crawl. The day before was a new standard, he wasn’t going to be able to make him happy enough to just stop. Whether he wanted to, or wanted this, it was something that was going to happen.

He pulled the towel off his head and glanced briefly at his elder, and he felt like he was shoved head first into mud then rolled around in it for a few days, the shower he just had,be damned. He was filthy and he had the sudden urge to just peel off a couple layers of skin and hope that helped.

The towel was around his hips. He tried to ignore everything and just get through. He was starting to feel that weird separation again, between his body and his mind. Especially when a horn was grabbed and he was pulled forward. The shackles popped off and landed with a clank on the metal floor that echoed around the spartan room. Apparently, he was being good enough he didn’t have to be bound. Deep in him, he had a thought he quickly had to bury. He could attack, but it would be suicide. The only exit from the room was closer to his elder than him. And even if he managed to get past him in here he had to be able to outrun him on a ship he didn’t know. Though he could feel the thought settle in his stomach, and he hoped that his ancestor didn’t somehow realize he had it.

He rotated his wrists, testing the mobility in them. Though the moment of pause was brief, he enjoyed every second of it. His chin was lifted, with nothing more than the side of a finger against the underside of his chin. He realized slowly, just like how this wasn’t going to change, that this was something of a goodbye. A finger stroked along his temple then down the rise and fall of his cheek. He hoped this wasn’t an “I’m now going to kill you” goodbye.

He didn’t want to die, despite everything; no matter what he did in a moment of pain, he wanted to live. He chose to live. He wanted to see his friends, he wanted to actually meet all of them. See them in flesh and blood and maybe even hug all of them, hold them close, and maybe never let go. Then again, if he were to base this on all of his friends, their responses would probably be similar to Equius’ and Eridan’s “helpful” advice.

He could feel sadness root in his chest, not even filling that hollow he had inside. It crept up his throat trying to sneak-attack his eyes. He wouldn’t wish this on his friends, he wouldn’t wish anything like this on his friends. Yet, they wished it on him. They told him to do it, they didn’t warn him, or try to tell him it was going to be okay. His body was a traitor, but his friends’ betrayal stung worse. He lifted his head higher and forced the tears to roll back down his throat. They pooled in his hollow stomach, and he hoped his own tears wouldn’t make him sick.

He heard the sound of metal sliding against itself, and he refocused his eyes on the scene, not letting himself be caught unaware again. When a hand approached he backed up, a default reaction he couldn’t even control. He felt glass and metal cold against his shoulders, and he knew there was nowhere to go. Even if he wasn’t in a corner, even if he wasn’t in space. He felt like he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t ever really escape. The thought twisted his gut, and settled on top of the thought of escape like a sick blanket. It made him silently gag, a lump in his throat refused to let anything come of it.

He could have the whole of Alternia, the whole of every colony, and every single planet to hide in and his elder would find him, and he’d be pinned here once more, and he’d have to hope and pray with every fiber of his being that the punishment for running and hiding like that resulted in death. If not he hated to know what would happen to him.

A finger slid along his jaw. He realized the smell, he recognized the texture and the lump in his throat expanded nearly choking him. It wasn’t like clothes, clothes could come and go, but his paint was different. He had allowed it once, because he was stupid, and he missed everything. He missed how every motion landed him right in this spot. If he wanted to be a deeper thinker he’d ask himself if this was time pulling itself back. Making him relive each of his indicators that he allowed. And let his ancestor to have whatever way with him he wished.

_“_ I can…” His voice was rough and wrong. Fear twisted up in his insides, waiting for a blow, or a quick hurtful word. When nothing came instantly, his voice checked back in without his want. “I can do it.” There was no response and if his bloodpusher could groan and scream under strain of emotions it would let out a long whine. Tired of overuse and the shifting emotions from its host.

If he had been properly inducted into the church, and if his elder wasn’t trying to pull his insides outside of him without a cut, he would have allowed his sponsor this. He would have allowed his sponsor to paint his face. But he wasn’t, this was something else entirely, it made the hollowness he felt expand and he tried swallowing, he tried willing himself to feel nothing. He tried to think that this would turn out alright. But something, something scared, precious, and his was being taken from him. Taken with softness, examined under cruel eyes, it was being molested, touched, hurt before him. It was crying for someone to help, it was begging for it to just stop before it was going to be thrown on the floor and forgotten in some dark and dusty corner and he’d never get it back. He would just stand there watching it happen, too afraid, too stupid, and too weak to fight for it. He wanted to pretend that he could claim it back once he survived. But he couldn’t convince himself that even survival was possible.

His friends weren’t going to come for him. The runaways were dead and Equius and Eridan both told him that he should be honored that this was happening. That this was something he should want. He didn’t. He was sure of it. He wouldn’t hurt so much, he wouldn’t be so empty if he wanted it. He would be happy, giddy, and press himself against affections.

If this was history making to repeat itself, he’d relax against the motion of fingers painting along the bridge of his nose. He wouldn’t be near tears, and his body wouldn’t be shaking like it was. And though he spoke, he got no response. No short words, no growl to tell him he was going to be hurt, not even a warning to tell him to shut up. Nothing to base anything off. And he wanted to scream or plead for his elder to say something or scream at him. He’d settle for being hurt. He didn’t like this whole unsure thing he had going for him, and he managed to bite his tongue to keep him from doing it. He just wanted his elder to react to him, to not let him flounder in this really dark and alone place he had found himself in.

Fingers slid along his forehead, and he cursed himself. He’d behave, he didn’t want this, but maybe just maybe, this was how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to end up here, he was supposed to be torn between screaming and crying. Torn between throwing up everything that was in him and feasting on his own sadness. This could quite possibly be the closest he’d ever get to his personal goals. He wouldn’t be a lonely little shit if he made his elder happy. He’d at least have him. Wasn’t that basically what his friends said? He bugged them, they didn’t want to talk to him. His ancestor, on the other hand, had at least made an effort to talk to him. To be near him, which was more than he could ever say of his alive friends.

The dead didn’t matter, they couldn’t matter. They were as gone to him now as the specters that were torn piece by piece in his dreams. He didn’t even have the fleeting memory of their blood painting his skin in a pattern he sort of recognized. All he had from them was words, not even words, but text that told him he was going to die in conscription, he was stupid to do it, but the best of luck and goodbye. That was it, and as time went on he was sure those words would fade into muddy memory and he’d never remember his hatchmates. Instead, he’d remember this. This would become his earliest memory. Him submitting to something everyone thought he obviously deserved. And maybe he did. Maybe they saw something in him, maybe they knew something about him that made this something he required, something he needed to get better.

Then fine, he’d do it. He had never really hated anything in his life, but he hated this. He hated that he had to submit to it. He hated that he was allowing himself to submit. He couldn’t even force himself to fight. He couldn’t blame anyone else, he couldn’t blame his elder or his friends. Especially if he needed it so badly he had told his ancestor that this was a course of action, and the only course of action, that could be taken.

His pining for so long to not be lonely caused this. His need to have another troll in his life, one who would show any type of care, made him throw himself into any welcoming arms. At the very least his ancestor had an investment, they were bloodlinked, therefore he might hurt him, but killing would be a little harder. At least he hoped that was the case. If it were any other troll? He might have gotten killed for such obvious solicitation. At least his elder would think through his uses first.

The hand pulled away from his skin, and he felt a weight he usually didn’t feel. He looked at his elder and he barely registered the desire to avert his eyes. Instead he just looked at the older troll and resigned himself to whatever punishment would come, because there was no doubt more would come. It was a matter of when, not of if. He would just do as his elder said he might get off a little easier. He tried to resolve himself that it was easier and better this way.

Weight didn’t leave him as he was touched again, this time around the back of his neck. He was pulled forward and didn’t resist, but he couldn’t fight nausea despite his new plan. He chanted in his mind, creating a mantra that if he really thought about the words his knees would give out and he wouldn’t move for the entire day as he vomited, cried, and screamed until his organs met the floor and his throat tore open.

He was moved and the routine was changed, he knew it was coming. He had resigned himself to do this as opposed to what he had grown accustomed to, but it still rocked him. Some part of him must have held on to the hope that everything would go back to normal.

Instead, he found himself guided, then stopped next to his ancestors desk. He wanted to ask what he was wanted for. Instead a finger pointed and he lowered himself to the floor and just sat. He briefly toyed with the whole escape idea before giving it up to fantasy. He was not that motherfucking stupid. He was still in space, surrounded by trolls who adored his elder. Sure, there might be hate but he was the voice of the Messiahs to trollkind. That wasn’t something you challenged or fought against without a lot of thought. And some stupid little wriggler wasn’t going to change their mind. Especially if they saw his sigil, and in a sign of good faith and devotion would return him back into waiting claws that would be crueler than they were now.

He pulled his legs up to his chest and held onto his knees, leaning his weight forward against familiar skin. His mind briefly toyed with the fantasy that Equius and Eridan might worry about his lack of response and they’d somehow get a hold of the others and all of them would storm the ship and rescue him. But if they weren’t dead, coming here would surely kill them. With so many colors, they’d take it like an offering. On the bright side his elder might give him some praise for bringing so many trolls willing to die for the cause of the Messiahs. He wanted to laugh bitterly at the thought. Here he was thinking his dead friends could give him a break from this.

His only chance at getting out was himself and he stayed glued to the ground unwilling to try. He had reasons, sure, but reasons shouldn’t matter. He should try at the very least. He must be defective; most trolls would fight, accept death, not just sit there waiting for an order or a motion to tell them what was next. That’s what happened in all those movies and shows. When a troll was held captive by another they would fight and even if death came they’d face it standing. And he wasn’t even kneeling anymore.

He tried to find his mind somewhere else to rest, somewhere that didn’t land him bitterly back here, and somewhere that didn’t make him get lost, because he fucking didn’t need a repeat of yesterday. The room was quiet, all but the sounds of his elder working. Somehow, that made the silence worse. It meant there was something that could make noise at him, but refused to. He heard a very familiar ping, and his elder chuckled. It was dark ,almost evil, and he couldn’t help but feel like it was directed at him. The sounds continued, one right after the other, as if whoever was sending the messages was ranting at his ancestor. He never made any motion at responding, instead he just laughed. And it still felt like Gamzee was on the receiving end of it. Although, as he peeked out between his shoulder and bicep and under his lashes so he wouldn’t be caught looking, he elder wasn’t looking towards him. It still left cold fear settling among the tears in his stomach, tucking hopelessness and sadness in. The mix was potent and he hoped that the fear would fade away.

He went back to being curled in a tight ball beside his elder, feeling horribly small and hating it. He wished he could puff himself up enough to assert, but that was as much of a suicide mission as trying to escape.

No hope of rescue or escape, and thinking of his dead friends left him sadder and more bitter than before. Thinking of his alive friends filled him with anger. He didn’t want to direct it at them, but they could have given him a bit more warning. More than the advice to kneel down and take whatever came. He didn’t want to think of what was coming next, unless he wanted his internal cold to turn to hot and he was made to clean up his own mess. No doubt his ancestor would make him.

That left the tearing flesh and cracking bones of the night before. He developed an interest in the way his hair fell on his arm, how it looked in the light. But it couldn’t hold him for long. He had remembered more, how a brush had painted familiar symbols on his skin as he laid on the platform, still at peace with all of this. The blood was maroon, one of his skeletal specters that died was a maroon blood. Like his spooky sister. Charcoal lined part of his face and that was it.

It was strange how familiar it all had seemed. How okay he had been with the events. How fear in him had subsided and he submitted to the decoration. It seemed almost like a Church practice, but it didn’t make any sense why hivemind nightmares would come with that. A monster viciously slaying skeletal beings, sure. Especially if after that monster came for him. Instead he was painted up like a sacrifice and laid out.

Maybe he was misremembering it, maybe what happened next was so horrible his mind went to something relatively safer. That being a sacrifice of Mirth or Dismay, which under most circumstances wouldn’t be calming in the slightest, unless it was for one of the more benevolent spirits. But he didn’t know exactly which one preferred maroon. He hadn’t gotten that far yet, and those were secrets he would have learned when he was inducted.

His stomach dropped as he heard fabric shuffle. He knew he was finally being regarded. He wasn’t aware at just how long he had been sitting there clutching onto himself, but both his arms were sore from the strain of clinging to his knees, and both his feet were starting to feel numb.

A hand pulled through his hair, and he realized how sore his scalp still was. He closed his eyes, shoulders getting friendly with his ears, trying not to react to being touched like he was a pet. Something stung into him then, right into his bloodpusher, like needles. The pain subsided a moment after and left his head buzzing. The hollowness in his stomach didn’t lessen but the fear did, softly, almost gently, leaking out of him. Miming the actions of his elder’s hand. His body relaxed and his shoulders welcomed the break.

He chalked it up to the motion of his ancestor comforting him, but it was from something else. At least he was pretty sure. Unless he was listening to his mantra. His mind felt thick, tipsy, and somewhere a storm loomed but he just noticed it and moved on. He doesn’t have the fear in him to be afraid. He didn’t even have the fear in him to be a little worried over the fact he knew something was coming, it was just coming. The apathy was welcomed, warm, and held tight in his mind. He would rather have numbness than feeling.

“Come here, little one.” The voice was cooed, soft, and he knew it was deceptive. Or at least he thought it was; he didn’t have any basis behind the feeling. It made it hard to tell if there was anything bad about to happen. He unwrapped his tangle of limbs, and he realized how tense he had been. His body was finally relaxed and he was conscious of it, unlike yesterday, where relaxation made him giddy. Something had come in and loosened each of his muscles and he had allowed it.

He stood up, and was surprised for how much control he had over all his limbs with how relaxed he felt. He looked down at his hand and flexed his fingers just to make sure he wasn’t somehow drunk or dosed with something. His elder chuckled as cold-warmth and pressure caged in Gamzee’s sides, and he realized at that moment he should be afraid. He couldn’t summon it to him though, he couldn’t find fear in him. He would have been scared if it was possible.

He was pulled up onto his elder’s lap again, less like a pet, more like a doll. And that thought disturbed him; without the fear it was a lot easier to think about things. But he was growing more and more disturbed by the lack of worry in him. Maybe he had given up. Or maybe in all this sitting and milling over everything he had found that part of himself that did want this.

His elder’s fingers were still on his sides and he shuddered, this time purely out of sensation. The lack of fear was getting less and less disturbing. It was becoming more and more welcomed. Claws wandered to his back and traced vertebrae.

“You’re being very, very good.” The words were wrong. But he didn’t mind hearing them.

“Thank you, I’m trying, sir,” he managed his voice rough and still whispered. He was wondering if he should speak, but he didn’t think his elder would react badly if he did.

“You’re succeeding, surprisingly. Tell me, little one, what were you thinking about as you sat there?” Words got choked up in his throat. He didn’t want to say. He didn’t know if he could even say, and he wasn’t even sure he could lie right now. Fear oozed back in and he begged it mentally to stay away. His stomach tensed and his pumper beat like an execution drum.

“About my old friends.” He decided it was safe, distant enough. Even without fear he didn’t want his ancestor any more in his head then he already was. That was more of a personal space issue then a fear thing, anyway. His ancestor smirked and the fear subsided again. As soon as it appeared it was gone, and he forced himself to believe that he had listened to the words in his head.

“Your hatchmates?” He nodded. Claws still tracing vertebrae, sending shudders through him, ones he didn’t even mask, and that enlivened something in his elder. He half wished he could tell just what it was. Instead, a hand very slowly reached out and braced itself against his ancestor’s core, his body trembling. He didn’t even know why. He caught his elder’s smirk before fingers slid to his side and he couldn’t help the gasp.

He had to have found it, or listened to his mantra, or something, because there was no fear. No worry of pain, instead he was just being touched. Touched with care and without worry. Fingers rubbed gently along his sides, along cartilage scars that had nerves too close to the surface. He closed his eyes and leaned toward the touches. Familiar heat buried deep in his stomach, he could feel blood rush to his face. His fingers coiled onto fabric; it was stiff, unyielding, and he shuddered as the touches moved from gentle to just the right amount of rough and back again. He shivered, leaning his forehead against his bloodlink’s core.

He could hear his own fast breaths, ones that told him to be ashamed at how fast these touches were working. Heat leaked into every limb and he fought the urge to move his hand to his seedflap and bring it to fruition. He tried to bring his thighs together to get pressure without the shame and it was not enough. He could feel his elder’s smile, as a hand pulled off his side and he whined from loss of sensation.

His head was pulled back and he caught his elder’s eyes. The smile was there, all vicious possession and ownership. He didn’t mind it, he wanted to but he couldn’t, his body was relaxed and reacting, reacting to touched. He felt ghost hands from his dreams, ones that stroked down his legs, and in his nightmares his elder was the one who painted him up like a sacrifice.

He wanted that thought to disturb him, he knew it should. The hand in his hair shifted and rubbed against the base of his horn. Gently at first, before molding the skin against pressure. He moaned despite himself; if he could figure out what his body and mind wanted it would make this a lot easier. Both told him to just move his hand to his bulge and let it coil with his fingers, to tug on it until the heat and tingling left him. Another part of him was telling him that this was wrong, something it couldn’t place wasn’t right and he was walking right into it.

He didn’t know which parts of himself to believe or trust. His body was proven a traitor, but he must have found that dark place of him that craved his ancestor’s touches. But the image of him looking up at his elder on that platform painted up like a gift for the spirits, his elder saying something, something he couldn’t remember…

“Stop fighting yourself, give in, little one.” He whined at his elder’s voice. He didn’t want to, he just did. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. He pulled his hand off the cloth and felt the skin of his thigh, warmer than his body usually ran. His elder’s smile widened, and some part of him felt ill; another part of him was happy, that smile meant he was pleasing. “Give me a show, little clown.” He shifted his thighs, sliding them along his elder’s legs, and his joints protested but he didn’t care. This recent confusion or not, he was still obeying orders.

His hand slid up to protective skin, and he hadn’t realized how a few simple touches could affect him. His bulge was already half out when his fingers slid along the skin. He moaned, desperate for more touch, though his ancestor’s touches didn’t stop. Pressure coiled around two of his fingers and he palmed the rest of his bulge, rubbing it in small circles that made his thighs tense.

He closed his eyes and breath overtook most of his perception, his rough short breaths that echoed in time with each circle. If he strained his ears he could hear his elder’s breathing hitch. After sound came touch, and that was nearly overloading. He could feel his pulse in his hand and the fingers messaging sensitive spots on him were still making him tremble. His hips moved without care to what was actually going on.

The part of his mind still firmly against this filtered back to his dream, how his elder had touched him and put him up to something, how he hadn’t needed to be held down, how instead he let his elder have him and how he submitted. It mirrored this, in a way, except his ancestor hadn’t done anything more than touch erogenous zones above his hips and for all intents and purposes was being extremely nice about the whole thing.

His thighs tried to pull together again and his bulge slithered in his grip, demanding more. He gripped it loosely, letting it coil around his fingers before squeezing it making his hips buck up at the touch. Heat flushed through him and he moaned again, trembling in his own hand and against his elders’ touch.

“God damn it.” His ancestor’s voice was a growl, but it didn’t frighten him. He was too busy rocking his hips against his hand, needy and nearly consumed with heat. The hand on his side pulled away and he whined, his body twitching to get sensation back and the request went unheeded.

It found a new spot and pressed against his nook. Softly, still minding all the bruises he had but couldn’t think about. He bit his lip, gripping onto his bulge harder, it slithered in his fingers and curled tighter. His hips lurched forward, two fingers dragging along sensitive flesh and he gasped.

He half-opened an eye at his elder’s voice. “Do you want me to?” The request was full of want and he blinked at his ancestor for a split second before he swallowed. He shifted, the finger moved a little deeper and pressed a little harder. He moaned, eyes closing once more. “No, no. Give me your words, little one.”

“Yes.” he hissed, it rode his breath and he knew he should be ashamed of himself. A finger pushed inside of him a moment after. If it weren’t for the hand still rubbing the base of his horn he would have probably lost his balance and fallen to the floor. His hips swayed against the finger that pressed into him, this time with less pain. This time his body was more ready. He gasped as it stroked along the walls of his nook. He couldn’t help the reaction of rocking faster against the touch. He felt his eyes clench tightly and he asked for more. The words tumbled from his mouth and another finger shoved in. That hurt more, but he had asked for it.

His breath was harsh and ragged, his core spasming almost rhythmically as the fingers pushed deep into him, his bulge coiling tighter and tighter around his hand. He lost track of his other hand along with his legs, and had no idea what they were doing. All that mattered was that the pressure inside him was about to explode and he couldn’t stop shaking.

The against part of his thinkpan tried to get back at him, pull him back; it fed him a name over and over. A name he recognized but couldn’t match in context to the dream and with want clouding everything in him. His body pushed forward and down on the two fingers inside him. He trembled, the tremor lacing his voice as he groaned. Fire and feeling overwhelmed him and he could feel his hands wet with genetic material. He realized what he did, he realized he had asked. Fear hit him upside the head like an old friend who was tired of being ignored.

His brain, still chemical sludge from aftershocks, couldn’t mask the fear. His breath, still ragged, sped up and he could feel his bloodpusher nearly seize from its sudden return. His ancestor pulled his fingers from him, both of them covered in purple that meant he couldn’t ignore the fact he asked his ancestor to do that to him. He felt tears choke him up again, and he was losing the will to fight them. He stared for a moment, at his hand wrapped around his elder’s wrist. The other hand holding him up by the base of his horns. The purple on fingers and smeared along his own hand and stomach. He whimpered, confused and nauseous.

The part of his brain that advised him against the actions was now screaming at him, a name he couldn’t connect, and his elder’s voice cut through his attempt. “To the floor.” His legs weren’t working, feeling like gelatin on a hot day. He slid to the floor, shock emptying his head of any other thought. His elder situated him between his thighs.

“A favor returned in kind.”

It was said so simply. He swallowed and raised his hands, his fingers stiff and fumbling with latches. He managed after a struggle that just made his elder’s smile more vicious, and he licked dry lips and forced himself to touch skin. He felt fever wash over him and he swallowed down the acid creeping up his throat.

He gripped at the slick flesh and he felt like a wriggler again, inexperienced and really afraid that it would show. He had just made him happy and even if he had a lot he needed to think about - and think about really hard - he wanted to keep his ancestor happy enough he could have time to think and not be faced with more punishment.

Seeing his elder close up, he wasn’t sure how any of his bulge had fit inside him. He tried not to hesitate, and just wrapped his hands around the flesh. He wanted to cry as it curled in his hands. He knew how to take care of himself, what troll didn’t? But with someone else, and with someone who really was judging his performance, he didn’t know what to do. He could feel himself wanting to freeze, but he willed himself to figure it out.

On the bright side one of his hands was already covered in genetic material and that would help with making the whole thing easier. It wasn’t like he had to figure out an alternative. The bulge curled tight around his fingers and he had to make do with trying to grip the muscle. He bit his lip, entirely unsure of himself and really just wanting this to be over.

His elder’s hand landed on the hand not trapped in the muscle and moved it, guiding him on what to do. Somehow it made the already sick situation worse. He wanted to close his eyes, let his mind drift, and forget this was a thing he was doing. But if his attention faltered he’d lose his reprieve to think about what he had just submitted to. He knew he had been chanting at himself to want and enjoy it. But if he truly believed it, it should have carried on not being so terrifying. He knew his hands were shaking, he knew that he couldn’t stop staring at what he was doing. Shock was still looming over the other feelings in his stomach, making them toss and turn in the sleep he was trying to force them into.

His elder’s hand pulled off his and moved to hold his horn and part of the back of his head. He tried to block out noise, like the mental images he still hadn’t been able to shake from yesterday, though that was already starting to feel like years ago. His elder’s hand pushed him closer and he wanted to just hold his breath until all this was done.

He couldn’t do that, instead he managed to close his eyes. He regretted it almost instantly as he couldn’t ignore the smell, the feeling, or the sounds any better that way. Vision at least gave him something horrible that would burn into his eyes and sit there for the rest of his life, like some sick ghost image, but he didn’t have the variety of sensations to make his thinkpan do leaps of happy fucking joy when it would replay the scene for him later.

“Stick out your tongue.” His eyes closed, hard, and he saw little white dots flicker in his sight. He opened his mouth; he didn’t do much more than the minimum of what he was ordered. “Remind me I have to do something about your teeth.” He heard the words, he processed the words, he over analyzed the words. He came up with creative ways the words could be used in a new and interesting sentences. He invented all the torture methods that could get rid him of his teeth. It was better than the pull toward skin he got and the taste that seemed to coat the tip of his tongue, and then seep into his mouth.

He quickly weighed the pros and cons of the next words that were going to be out of his ancestor’s mouth. He didn’t want to do that willingly; however, in the long-term, he didn’t want to hear those words on repeat for the rest of his life. More of his tongue slid out and stroked along the base, along pleasure-sensitive bumps, and he heard his elder hiss his inhale, the words gone, and he’d never have to hear them.

The hand holding the back of his head pushed him closer. He tried to get that floating-above-his-body experience back; instead, he was painfully aware of his tongue moving along flesh. It pressed into every sense and gnawed at him. He even tried to focus on another pain, but his elder was holding him up higher. His knees weren’t even touching the ground, and he couldn’t focus on that pain. Nor any other, they all seemed to vanish.

He had to remember to move both his hands and tongue. It made his stomach flip and all those emotions wake up with how much thought he had to put into this, or else it was the taste in his mouth making him feel vile. The bulge in his hands squirmed and it coiled closer to his mouth. He seriously hoped his ancestor didn’t expect him to put it in his mouth. His jaw couldn’t open that wide, and he couldn’t do much about his teeth.

He tried to pretend this was something else, something to make it easier, but he had never smelled or tasted anything like this. The tip drifted along his cheek and he couldn’t stop the twitch forward or the click in his throat as he gagged. His elder’s fingers coiled tight around his horn, yanking rogue hairs up with it. He grabbed the tip just to pull it off his skin, thumb stroking to act like it was an intentional motion to be pleasing. Really, he just didn’t want to be touched by it more than he already had been.

His hands were pulled off the slick flesh a moment after, his ruse fooling no one but his own desperation. His hands fell where they may, and he could feel muscles tense against his palms. The tip slid along his cheek, finding its way to his lips. He was going to be killed. He was going to be injured graphically at the very least. It ran along his tongue and he nearly gagged from the potency of taste. He was surprised when it just trailed along his tongue before moving on. It didn’t try to push inside him or coil with his tongue. He hated that he had to be surprised by that. He just wanted this to be over. He was cautious as he lifted a hand again, he held the tip between two of his knuckles before pressing his palm against it. He tried to ignore the way his name was being used by his elder’s throat.

That name was said like that. Just like his name was being moaned now. The name used made disgust crept into him, and that hollowness in his heart blossomed and he realized he was used. The thought was bitter to his mental hear-ducts. He had been a sacrifice. It might have been in his dreams, but that wasn’t a line that was crossed. Had it just been a nightmare torment, or had it been something that had happened and his not all-there-state had made it seem like a dream? Either way, one didn’t just offer a troll up to any of the spirits against their will unless they were making mirth. One didn’t offer a young troll up to her.

His eyes flashed open at his elder, he wanted to glare, or bite, or claw, but the pressure against the side of his head suddenly hit him and he knew there was no way to fight it. If he had been used like that the damage was already done. He moved his head and let his tongue replace his palm, letting both parts of him exchange spots. He could get rid of anger, it didn’t suit him, it never had. Instead he had an alternative. First, get this done and get him gone. Then tonight, when he was a good boy and got to sleep without cuffs and without anything else holding him down, he’d just forget all of this ever happened.

This time he didn’t have to be surprised; the tip slid along his tongue and he tried to get his lips to cover his teeth. He stuck his tongue out further and in the best way he could he tried to keep it out of his mouth. He already felt filthy enough and he knew he would have to digest what he was having to swallow. The tip coiled with his tongue, before his elder shifted his head and Gamzee’s tongue ran along another part of the bulge. He couldn’t repeat his first mantra, now it was just “get this done”.

That slimy feeling was trailing along his face and he was trying to ignore everything but an end goal. His inexperience was showing, even then getting his elder off was going to be taxing. He had to hold on anger, anger he didn’t really know how to deal with, but right now he was in a position that would get him killed if he was lucky. Obviously, he wasn’t usually very lucky.

He took it into both his hands again and worked. He fought to get this finished and ignore everything about what he was doing. Getting it over with was easier thought then done, and ignoring it was even harder as every single sense he had seemed consumed with reminding him that he was doing this. And his elder obviously was set on keeping him reminded, as his bulge literally had to be pulled away from coiling with Gamzee’s throat.

His tongue was getting sore, his hands were alternating getting pressed between the flesh to the point of discomfort. He really didn’t have an option to stop, he repeated the words louder in his head. His stomach started to revolt from the mixture he concocted for it. He could feel the grip on his hair tighten and the bulge try again to coil around him, and he was half afraid his elder would hurt him for the force, and the other half afraid of what he might do if he allowed himself to use force.

He moved it away from strangling him, which had to be the most disgusting and yet hilarious death he could think of. He then decided his thoughts were being stupid. His tongue sliding along the tip again, and his elder’s hand clenched. His hand stroked along the skin and he felt the need to worry about the anatomy of his mouth again as his ancestor’s grip tightened and slipped the smallest amount. Bitterness told him that he had finished, and the warm-cold the coated his hands and most of his chin and chest told him he had a mess to clean up. He seriously hoped he wouldn’t be told to clean up all of it or he would vomit. He was already close, gagging as the rush of fluid left him no choice but to swallow, either that or lose the ability to breathe. It was making him gag like it was going out of style.

He untwisted his hands and put his tongue back in his mouth; it was throbbing and the gagging just made it send sharp spikes of pain through him. His elder didn’t release his head, and he would have ventured to open his eyes, but he didn’t want the image. His elder shifted and he tensed, expecting a slap or another touch on his skin, but it didn’t come. That made him open an eye, looking towards the older troll. Their eyes met and he bit the inside of his cheek, anger and fear boiling in his stomach and mixing with the shame that was coating all of him. He couldn’t force his tongue to lick his lips, though he really wanted to. His ancestor’s free hand moved towards him and it slid along the skin he was trying to ignore. It pushed past his lips and slid along his teeth. He split them accordingly, just to keep him happy and get this done. The fluid tasted worse this time around, bitter, salty and he swore when he was done he was going to vomit up everything.

He took as much of the finger as his throat would allow without revolting and causing him to keep that oath too early. It ran along his teeth and he tried not to flinch away for fear of injuring his elder, as if he moved he surely would. Another finger replaced the other and he willed himself to clean it off in the same manner. His elder shoved it forward, causing him to gag, but earning a smirk from the older troll.

Some part of him realized the unholy mixture of genetic fluids in his stomach, some part of him realized that he wanted to cry, another part of him was going numb, and he wanted to smile at the last part. It was his favorite part. Another finger pushed into his mouth after he finished with the last one. This time he was more mechanical, sliding his tongue along skin and bone.

“You’re free to go find a place to curl up and keep yourself entertained.” His elder’s voice was still thick-heavy with lust. “But, two things.” Two fingers shoved against the back of his throat and he gagged again. “You don’t get to clean yourself up.” He wanted to snarl, but couldn’t with digits in his mouth. “And don’t make a mess.” The fingers pulled from his mouth. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Words hurt his tongue more, but his elder liked it when he talked. He was released, he slipped between his ancestor and the desk. He crawled for only a minute before he stood, trying to ignore the stickiness covering him, and walked out without looking back. He had a plan.


	20. Chapter 20

There was an unused small hot cooking plate in one of the cabinets. He had found it when he had first explored around the common area. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now he was happy he discovered it. In a few cabinets over was a pan that would work. It had been ages since he had done it this way, but really he couldn’t face this reality and if he had other options to get away he’d take them. Though he was pretty sure repetitive head trauma fell under the whole “not making a mess” rule. He could bake pretty cleanly when he tried. He just had to wait for the right time, and have all the supplies.

Knowing he had that coming would make the night much more manageable. He just had to waste time until he could. He picked up his supplies, and he seriously hoped with all that was in him he could remember exactly how you baked up slime this way versus in a pie. The pies had been easier, made the slime portable and never came with any problems.

He went to his room and ignored the urge to leave due to trespassing. He couldn’t catch himself messing with his own stuff. This was his new life, and all of his shit was going to come with him whether it liked it or not. It took about ten minutes to find enough places spread out enough that he could hide all of his tools. Just in case anyone looked.

Once that momentary distraction was up, he was faced with the fact he was still slightly sticky and where he wasn’t it was like a hard film had stuck to him, making him aware of how every movement shifted skin, and reminding him of what just occurred. He looked down at his hands and sighed, they were just as covered as the rest of him. And as per the keeping-your-ancestor-happy-enough-to-get-high-plan, he couldn’t clean them off.

His tongue felt swollen and he would go check to see if it was, but that would involve a mirror and he really didn’t want to see any more of his skin than he had to. It would also involve him putting his fingers in his mouth and he definitely didn’t want to do that. Plus, that might fall under cleaning himself up. Though perhaps his ancestor would find it funny or entertaining that he cleaned himself off partially with his mouth.

He just wanted a pie, and he was going to do everything in his power to get something close. He could eat enough, his brain would get fuzzy, and hopefully he’d forget about today, the day before, and every other day after. Maybe he could get himself to remember nothing but just before conscription. He’d settle for that, but right now he had to figure out what to do with himself. He looked at his husktop, still kicked half under the desk, and was half-tempted to try to talk to his dead friends. But no, if he was going to have that conversation he really didn’t want to be interrupted with a demand, or have his elder come in and spy on the fact he was talking to a brownblood. He wasn’t trying to get punished, and that seemed like a one way ticket to pain.

He looked around his room and half wished he had his sylladex and he could just put everything away and not have to look at it. But his sylladex was lost sometime in the past couple of days. He didn’t even know where it went, but wherever it was it was probably getting cozy with his also-missing specibus.

He could do nothing but walk and he really didn’t feel like roaming around aimlessly. He knew he had to actually have a plan, but the temptation was right there. And it was almost too much, distractions were needed unless he felt like getting caught. He just had to make it through tonight, and once every troll on this ship was settled to sleep he’d get his mind twisted and gone.

He had to leave, if he hung around here he’d throw caution to the wind and get caught. He turned and left and went back to his corner. He would have curled up, but he didn’t want to streak anything on the floor. Because that was making a mess. He was hating his thought processes more and more. Instead he lay on his back and tried to find something to think about. He settled for the ocean, and tried to recall every time he ever sat out and watched the waves come and go. He had about eight hours until he could “go to sleep”. Roughly ten hours until he could get his brain gone. He couldn’t count it down; a watched pie bakes slowly.


	21. Chapter 21

He followed his elder’s beck and call; he didn’t get to eat, instead he just followed orders. Occasionally a rogue hand would slide along the flaking stain on his skin and in turn force him to clean the now dirtied hand. He ancestor seemed amused with teasing him like this. He welcomed it as opposed to something more outright.

He had to keep himself from giving too many hints at his dawn plans. He knew he was already jumpy, but the plan made him more prone to easy frights. Then again, he had been so jumpy his elder probably hardly noticed the change. He must have come across as a disgustingly obedient little shit. It seemed to please his elder, and right now that was all that mattered.

His plans banked on his bloodlink staying happy. Happy enough he was without chains, without a locked-from-the-outside room. He was relying on the hope that he would be rewarded like that, and not in some other twisted way like sleeping next to his elder. He really hoped that wasn’t going to be a thing. He didn’t know if he could sleep in such close quarters if it was. The thought made his skin crawl, more than it already was doing every time he’d catch a glimpse of purple.

When he had moments to waste he focused on the oceans of Alternia, watching burned in images of waves crashing against the shore and retreating. He focused on them instead of the fear that even if he behaved he would end up locked somewhere with nothing to look forward to. Right now, he needed something to look forward to. Something to get himself away, because this wasn’t ending. He would do whatever, whenever, as long as he didn’t have to be mentally there for it. It seemed like a fair trade.

It was getting late when his elder dismissed him to sleep. He hadn’t said anywhere in particular, but Gamzee didn’t want his elder to follow him to his room, so instead he curled up in the corner he had claimed as his own. He brought his knees to his chest, hiding his face in his arms, with enough space that he could watch for when he was alone.

He faked sleep, and tried to relax his body to calm, trying not to give himself away. Instead he waited, he waited for eternity. He waited until he was sure his patience would snap, and he’d offer anything if his elder would just go to sleep. Then the room darkened and he was left alone.

He held his breath, waiting for noises, waiting for something to tell him this was a trick. When nothing came, he slowly stretched out his limbs and pulled himself to his hands and knees. He crawled forward, looking around the room. He had an excuse now, but if he got too far he wouldn’t have one, and he’d rather catch his lurking ancestor now then later.

Impatience tugged at him from staring down the hallway, no sounds, no motion. He was probably safe to go back to his room. He crept on his hands and knees to his block as silently as possible. His knees wanting to protest from their already bruised state, but that couldn’t matter now. Walking would make more noise, and he’d be bigger. Better to be small and quiet. His fingers tugged at the handle and he pulled the door open.

He would have locked the door if it were possible. Instead he didn’t turn his back to it any longer than he had to. He gathered the pot and tip-toed to the bathroom. He had to ignore the stains on his skin, unless he wanted to get held up long enough to waste precious time. He was already feeling bad enough, swearing every little noise was his ancestor about to catch him. Making him pause and listen for a moment to be sure he wasn’t going to be caught.

He managed to get back to his room without having a fit or being caught, and he gathered the hotplate and bowl, stopping at his recuperacoon momentarily to fill the bowl to nearly the point of brimming with slime. He set the pan down, turned on the hotplate, and waited for the water to boil. He connected that he was actually, so far, getting away with this. He didn’t want to smile, but a small one came unbidden.

He looked around his room, unsure of what to do with himself. He had some time to waste before the water boiled and then he had to stir the slime so it’d cook evenly and actually do something as opposed to be a waste of effort.

He caught a glimpse of his computer, and crawled over the hotplate and grabbed it, bringing it back to his spot in front of the door. It had automatically shut off and he rebooted it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He still didn’t have much desire to talk to Equius or Eridan, and he doubted his other friends would be online, unless ghosts could chat. Which if they could would be wicked awesome, because he could really use someone to talk to. Then again, ghosts didn’t exist and they couldn’t work computers.

He stared at his desktop for a moment before he realized the water was boiling. He carefully lowered the bowl into the boiling water and checked the time on his husktop, in about two minutes he had to start stirring it. He could always try to talk to them, maybe they were under “invisible” since they should all be dead. Maybe if he talked at them they’d talk back. He hovered over a handle for a moment and sighed. What would he say to them? He wanted to rant at someone, and get advice, or comfort. But he really didn’t want to start another conversation like that. The last one had turned out so well. He wanted talk to them about it. But, as he got closer to doing it, he really didn’t want to bring it up.

Maybe he could just message them and if by some chance they were alive he could just have a moment of normalcy. If it came up then he’d talk about it. He double clicked on his friend’s handle, and other than hello he didn’t know what to say. He turned and mixed the slime, thinking over what he’d say and ask. He could ask how Alternia was, or how it was going. Maybe his best friend needed comfort, he didn’t want to have too much to ask in case Karkat wanted to go off on one of his fun rants.

It took another ten minutes and he pulled out the stirring device and slid his tongue along the metal. Bitterness, familiar bitterness, and strange relief washed over him. It was done. As carefully as he put it in, he took it out and set it on the ground. He turned off the hotplate and rehid it, then with another short sneak to the bathroom dumped out the water and hid the cooling pan.

All the while, his eyes kept sliding back to green that seemed to glow. Waiting for him like salvation, like a beacon of hope in the darkness of the ship. He settled down and pulled the husktop closer. The slime was warm on his fingers, and he scooped it up. A brief moment of hesitation was cut short by desire, and he shoved them into his mouth. Everything it came with be damned, the taste made relaxation roll over his body. He scooped up another double-finger-full and proceeded to type.

> terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]  
>  _carcinoGeneticist is offline, they will receive this message when they log on._  
>  TC: HeY BrOtHeR, yOu tHeRe?  
> TC: I DoN’T ExPeCt yOu tO Be, I JuSt uP AnD MiSs yOu.  
> TC: I HoPe yOu aIn’t dEaD, aNd tHiS Is bEiNg pOiNtLeSs.  
> TC: I JuSt wAnTeD To tAlK To yOu.  
> TC: I’M JuSt kInD Of aLl bUmMeD AbOuT ThInGs. AnD YoU AlWaYs sEeM To kNoW JuSt wHaT To sPeAk.  
> TC: I’M SuRe iF YoU ArE BeInG AlIvE YoU DoN’T NeEd tO TuNe In To HeAr My ShIt. I’m JuSt AlL tYpEs Of LoNeLy.  
> TC: I ShOuLd HaVe StAyEd, I ShOuLd bE WiTh yOu aLl. If yOu aRe tHeRe tYpE BaCk.

A ping made his bloodpusher leap to his chest. His computer froze and the screen jumped back to life. And his bloodpusher divebombed right back down into his stomach.

> Ťeʁė?l?ƷȻa?sʛaȤs [??] began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]  
> ??: Did you know, you’re horrible at faking sleep.  
> ??: Also, Your typing can give someone eye-seizures.

He almost threw his husktop to the floor and he almost stood. Instead he was just looking at the screen, the bowl on his lap in his peripheral vision. His bloodpumper shivering in his chest enough to know he had fucked up. He told himself to move. But his body, as always, didn’t listen.

> ??: A friend in every color. Even one who thought they could hide their blood, how charming. Did all of them but two skip conscription?  
> ??: You don’t have to talk. I already know the answer to that question.  
> ??: Don’t bother trying to get up. If you do it won’t turn out well for you.

He looked desperately at the screen and the bowl in his lap, half tempted to chuck it away from him, but he knew that would just leave a glowing green streak of evidence. He had to get rid of this; ignoring his better sense and the words of his elder, he stood up and dumped the bowl into his ‘coon, lamenting its loss briefly, before tossing the bowl back towards its hiding place.

He would settle back down and act like he hadn’t moved, it wasn’t like his elder could see him.

> ??: Tsk  
> ??: Tsk  
> ??: Tsk

That was all he had to read before he wrenched open his door. He kicked his husktop away in his rush to scramble up to his feet, running into everything, and ignoring all but the drive to escape. He barely made it into the hallway without falling on his hands and knees. He found his center of gravity just before he did, and pushed off the wall, shooting down the hall.

He was going to die. That was the only thought in his head. His elder was going to finally kill him. His steps slapped against the tile of the floor. Another set of footsteps was close, and he gritted his teeth, pushing forward. If he could just get to the exit, he could be okay. He could feel his muscles screaming at him for the overwork, and he wasn’t sure if he was breathing. His bloodpusher working past overtime, and pounding so hard it was about to break through his ribs.

He didn’t know where he’d hide but he’d manage, and if he could just escape, he’d live and not die. His back stung, and he knew it was from a swipe of claws. He pushed himself to running harder, he couldn’t get caught, not now. He was almost gone, almost out. His bloodpusher shuddered in his chest and he gasped for air. His forearm was grabbed, twisted, and that caused his direction to change and he ran headlong into the wall.

Pain exploded behind his eyes and he could feel the vessels pop and rupture, blood running down to his lips. He tried pulling back and getting his feet back to moving. His body met with a wall behind him, and one in front. His arm twisted back, and he whined. His weight shifted to his toes and to most of his uninjured shoulder. Cuts pounding against his back.

“What did I say?”

“Fuck you.” The words came out of his mouth before he had the decency to shut himself up. He was slammed forward against the wall, horn digging into the plaster; he winced, but managed to only really feel the scratched skin stretching on his back. Fluid ran down his back, making him half-cold.

“Poor choice of words, wriggler.” The words were growled close to his ear. His stomach dropped down around his feet. The grip on his arm tightened, and he tried to pull himself away, doing little more than bruising himself. He growled and figured if he kept going it might save him some grief and he’d just wind up dead.

“How about fuck off you worthless ex–” Air left him and he felt his ribs groan from the force of being shoved forward. He mentally slapped himself for thinking that was a good idea. He was yanked away from the wall, his uninjured shoulder screaming at him; it was near injury and he really didn’t need both of them fucked up. He was gasping for breath, trying to get the weight gone from his chest.

“You’re having problems obeying commands again.” Claws dug into his forearms and he wasn’t sure if it was a positive change of events that he was bleeding. At least that could result in something that might end this. “It seems to be the one lesson you cannot learn.” He was slammed forward again, then was pulled back, like some kind of fleshy paddle-ball being bounced back and forth.

“That’s alright, you little shit, I’ll get it through your head eventually.” He was slammed forward again, the side of his head knocking painfully against the wall. His vision blacked for a moment before it returned. He was still trying to breathe in short gasps, though his lungs seemed fundamentally opposed to it. He was pulled back against his ancestor. A free too-large hand slid up to his neck, the thumb hooking around the back and the forefingers sliding along his collarbone.

“Does that hurt?” Claws dug into the flesh under his collarbone. “Should I make it stop?” Gamzee whimpered, hating himself as much as his elder at this point. “Am I making you freak out?” If he would have just kept his dumb-as-fuck mouth shut, this wouldn’t be half as bad. “Is this making you feel wrong?” He tried to pull away lamely, but it really didn’t do anything but press claws into his skin. “You can’t even keep enough fight in you for this long. Pathetic really. Unless you’re back to doing things for my attention.”

“I don’t want,” he murmured, his voice breathless. “Just stop.”

“Are you going to beg?”

“No,” He didn’t have the air in him to beg, he didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to hurt. Every inhale was too shallow, breathing even hurt, he didn’t think it could be possible. “I can’t…” he whined.

“Oh, yes you can.” The hand around his throat tightened. “If you wanted to get lost in your own head you could have just asked.” He was pushed forward, his arm getting released and his shoulder sang in relief before it sent pins and needles down to his hand. His body was twisted to face his elder. “I would have let you have as much as you wanted, you know that right?” He whimpered, confused. He lifted his arm to the hand still around his throat.

“Please,” he managed. He just wanted to be let go of, and something explained. He couldn’t handle this confusion any more.

“Please what? Or had your usual witty dialogue finally managed to go by the wayside?” Each breath rattled in his chest and made his head swim in pain. He was going to be nothing but a ball of pain when this was done. He couldn’t manage to get his voice to work without agony.

“Let me go.” His voice was too soft, he knew it already.

“Why would I do that?”

“Please,” he whined. “I’m sorry, please.”

“I can’t let you keep getting away with things. I’ve set expectations and they must be met.” His elder sighed. The grip around Gamzee’s throat tightened, enough to make his bloodpumper shudder in his chest. “Now, I know you’re upset. After all, your friends have all abandoned you, and that has to hurt. But that doesn’t mean you take it out on me.” Whoever said woulds couldn’t hurt had never heard the tone his elder was taking with him. “Since you’ve gotten here I’ve done my best to make sure you completely understood what was expected of you. I’ve punished you when necessary, I’ve rewarded you when you’ve done well. I will admit my own temper is short, but I have tried to make sure you haven’t been all that affected by it.” If this wasn’t his temper, Gamzee didn’t want to see his actual anger. “But if you continue to disregard the simplest of rules, we’re going to have a problem. Never forget, wriggler, you owe me your life, and I expect payment for letting you still breathe. Without beating your bones into dust, I’m running out of ways to correct your behavior.”

“You’re not… my lusus,” he managed, his voice shaking.

“No, I’m actually attempting to be around for you.” If words could cause physical wounds those would have slapped his organs at his feet. “See, Gamzee, I’m not a bad troll. Nor is my motive just to hurt you. I have rules and requirements for your continued existence.” His elder leaned down by his ear. “After all…” His voice was soft. “This isn’t just my requirement. You showed me yourself that you want this. More than you used to. I’m happy to oblige, but you have to stop being so insufferable.”

“No,” Gamzee whimpered, his voice coming out cracked. “No, I don’t.”

“Lying to yourself hurts you more than it hurts me, kiddo. Actions speak louder than words, and you’ve shown me plenty.”

“You sacrificed me…” He had to pause to get air back in his lungs. “You forced me…” he gasped again; the grip on his throat didn’t waver or tighten. “I don’t want this.”

“I didn’t force you. Earlier, you held my wrist and enjoyed yourself. If that’s force, I’d be interested to know what consent is like for you. As for sacrificing you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t, but I would if you wanted.”

He stared for a moment, unable to figure out just what was happening. He hated this, he just wanted a honest answer, and he was sure he wasn’t getting one. His elder raised his hand and traced it down Gamzee’s cheek. His body sagged in his elder’s grip, resting most of his weight on the wall. He was sick and tired of being confused.

“What do you… want from me?” He wished he could talk on the inhale, it would have been easier that way.

“Right now, how about a conversation? Will you behave and not run?” Gamzee nodded, before murmuring a yes. He didn’t really have an option; he could talk, or be talked at and forced to talk back. Plus getting his ancestor’s hand away from his neck would be a relief. With that, the hand slowly pulled back from his throat, ready to catch him if he moved away. His eyes flashed up to his elder’s, and he shuddered.

He closed his eyes, and counted all the way to ten. He couldn’t run, no matter how much he wanted to. But he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t outrun. Instead, closing his eyes was as good as relaxation was going to get.

“Nine of your friends skipped conscription and met up with a resistance group. Did you know that?” Gamzee shook his head. “Do you remember when I said the number in bright red was for a special police force?” He nodded. “I could send them now, and get rid of all of them, it would be easy. Or I could have them brought back here. I could keep them chained up in the cells. I could bleed them dry over the course of perigees, I could make the most mirthful of paintings with them. I could make you bleed them out, paint with them, I could even make you be the one to kill them. But you know why I haven’t?”

Gamzee couldn’t help the tears that pushed past his eyes, his friends didn’t deserve that. But his elder knew they were alive. He shouldn’t be so happy, yet depressed at the same time. If they were dead, his elder couldn’t hurt them. “No, sir.”

“Because maybe, if one day you are really good, I’ll let you talk to them. A bunch of wrigglers thinking they can overthrow anything from Alternia is cute at best. Annoying at its worst.”

“You’ve talked to them?”

“No. But I’ve looked around your past some, managed to find one of them willing to talk. He was one of the ones who followed protocol. Told me about all your friends, from the deplorable heiress to the little run-off psionic, which is terribly depressing. I need a new helmsman.” Gamzee sputtered a sob, trying to bring an arm up to pull the hand from his throat. “I haven’t told anyone, so stop crying, it’s our little secret.”

“Don’t hurt them.”

His elder laughed. “You’re hardly in a position to make requests. After all, you want to join them, don’t you? Isn’t that what you said?”

“I just…” He didn’t know how to phrase this without getting hurt. “I’m tired of… being motherfucking confused.”

“Then stop.” His elder’s fingers trailed down the tear-tracks on his cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“Slime.” His mouth spoke before it consulted his head, and he winced, moving his body away from his elder, bracing for a blow. It didn’t come and slowly he opened an eye and looked at his elder. There was anger there, but for some reason it wasn’t venting his way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Yes, you did. Is that really what you want?”

He swallowed and looked away again. He shook his head. “I just want… to stop hurting,” he said, resigned. His elder was smiling, and Gamzee could feel it.

“You think slime would stop that?” Gamzee nodded. His ancestor laughed. “Well then, you’re free to have some.”

His eyes widened and he couldn’t stop himself from looking at his elder. There had to be a trick here. “No, I just was being… dumb.”

His elder pressed a finger against Gamzee’s lips. “Hush, I just said you could, didn’t I? Now go, do whatever it is you do to make it palatable.”

He shook his head, pushing himself against the wall. “No, please, it’s okay, I didn’t mean-”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, please, can I… change my answer? I don’t want it. I swear.” His elder’s smile dripped venom and Gamzee was reduced to trembling against the wall.

“Go.” He pushed against the unyielding surface of the wall, but made no motion to move. He wasn’t going to get trapped again. He’d rather be punished for insubordination. His elder sighed. “Still being a little disobedient fuck. Fine.” He grabbed Gamzee’s arm and wrenched him from the relative comfort of the wall. “I’m giving you an opportunity to get what you want, without punishment.”

“That’s a… fucking lie.” Gamzee tried to raise his voice but only succeeded in making himself nearly hyperventilate as his sides felt like they were about to rupture open. “You… want… to trap… me.”

“Now, now. I offered, you failed to take me up on it without my help. I’ll still give you…” His elder’s fingers coiled in Gamzee’s hair, and he tried to pull free, only managing to tear out some of his hair. “… what you want. I’m benevolent like that.” He was dragged over to the couch and thrown on it. As per places he had been thrown, dropped, or pressed against, this one was his favorite so far. “Now stay, and if you move, there will be consequences. Bloody consequences.”

His elder left, and he quickly evaluated his options. He could move, he could run, he could hide. But where would that get him? With bloody consequences, and he wasn’t exactly sure what those were. Plus, his elder knew his friends had skipped conscription. He knew they were on Alternia. He probably even knew their names. His threats weren’t empty, and Gamzee didn’t want his friends to be bound up like paint tubes, he didn’t want to put them through that.

Still, bloody consequences might mean he’d be killed. He couldn’t exactly help his friends if he was dead. That was a selfish thought and he hated himself for having it. He shouldn’t throw them in the line of fire like that. Even if right now a certain blueblood might enjoy the situation more, this wasn’t the time to hate on people who for most of his life were there for him.

His elder came back before a decision was internally reached. There was silence between them. Like some corpse in the room, that they both could smell but neither of them were going to do anything about. Gamzee fidgeted with his hands folding fingers over and over each other, looking at bruises forming on his forearms, anything to avoid what was about to happen. He didn’t even know what it was, but it was going to be dreadful. He would try begging again, but he really didn’t have the air without his ribs straining and him hyperventilating again. Plus, he didn’t want to anger his ancestor anymore. He could feel his elder’s gaze nearly piercing down to his bones. All disappointment, wrath, and poison.

“Please.” He had to get rid of that corpse. It was starting to crawl towards him and he didn’t want to have to deal with any more skeletons. “I’m sorry, I’ll do whatever. Just please.”

“You told me what you wanted. You were honest, which is more then I can say for you regularly. I might as well reward you for at least that.”

“No, I–”

“Gamzee.” He was growing to hate his name. His elder was back to him in a few steps. “Stop lying to me.” His chin was lifted once more. “It hurts when you do. Not only because you don’t think you can trust me, but you can’t even trust yourself.”

“Stop, please. Stop.” He lifted a hand to his elder’s wrist. “Just tell me. What you want. Stop messing with… my head.”

“I’m not messing with your head. I’m providing a clear set of rules that you’ll follow. Punishing you when you step a toe out of line, and rewarding you when you do well. As I said, I’m trying to give you what you want, but I want payment for keeping you alive.”

“Kill me then.” He was having all sorts of problems keeping his mouth shut.

“You’re just upset you’ve been caught lying.” His elder pulled his fingers through Gamzee’s hair, before moving down to the back of his neck and rubbing it softly. He tried to wrench his head away. His lusus might not have been there, he might have been a little mean sometimes, but he was still his lusus. And there was no way he was going to let his ancestor take up that role. He tried to growl, but with a quick grip of his ancestor’s talons his voice cut short. He damned every instinct grubs had with their lusus. He looked up to his elder.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. I’m flattered, honestly, but that’s a better question for yourself, little one.” He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to attack. Instead he just stared up at his elder. He didn’t have any answers, this wasn’t his choosing. Silence once again passed between them, this time he’d let it sit there and crawl into him and strangle out any will he ever had to speak again. He was tired of mind games.

Long enough had passed that he had unintentionally relaxed in his elder’s massage. Long enough that he had to be ashamed at himself once again being so docile despite the very real anger and fear boiling inside him. He managed to keep in any grub sounds when the attention disappeared and he claimed that as his only victory of the evening that far.

His elder held up a hand and he understood he was being told to stay, though his elder didn’t move far enough that running would have had any mattering to his predicament. The smell hit him first and he couldn’t ignore the way his body perked up to it. He swallowed down his body’s reaction to wanting the cooked sopor in his elder’s hand.

“See, I can be kind.” The bowl was held where he couldn’t just reach out and take it. “Now what do we say?” He wasn’t, no matter what his body was doing, going to play anymore. He was done, he’d either have a flat-out answer, or he was done. He was sick of this. He shook his head. “Don’t be a brat.” Claws dug into his hair. “It’s very unbecoming and I don’t want more I have to punish you for.”

“Please.” He tried to say it loud enough his words mattered. “Just tell me. What you want.”

“Right now, to make you happy.” His ancestor sounded so soft, it nearly made him believe it. “Isn’t this what you said you wanted? I might not agree, but I want you to be happy, little one. I told you I’m not totally mean. Not to you; as I said, you will serve your uses, and if this is how you want to serve I’ll let you. I’ll even let you have disgusting desires. Now, what do we say?”

He looked up to his elder, dropping his shoulders. He was surrendering, he could feel it. That seemed to be the only answer his bloodlink had. That this was his choosing, and Gamzee couldn’t tell if he was lying. He didn’t know about himself anymore. Maybe he did, maybe it hurt because he was ashamed. He could hear the war drums of tears march toward his resolve.

He did want the slime, but he didn’t want to play this game anymore. He looked down at his lap once more. “Please?” he choked out. That didn’t seem to be it. “Thank you?” he tried.

He lifted his head the slightest amount and managed to glance at the bowl in his elder’s hand, held down where he could reach it. Tentatively, he reached a hand up and grabbed the bowl; no pain, no injury, nothing of note. Other than the fact that he was being given slime. He held it between his hands, suspicious, but his elder raised an eyebrow and moved to sit.

His mouth was watering; he had a taste earlier and that had just whetted the craving he had inside him. He lifted a hand and could feel his elder watch him, and he dipped two fingers into the still-warm gel. He swallowed, waiting for the negative to come and hit him in the face. Everything he was doing seemed too slow, but it wasn’t met with any aggression. He moved his fingers up to his torn-up lips and forced them into his mouth.

Sill no violence, and he went for his second bite. His third, then fourth, and the edge was slowly being taken off. He relaxed further against the couch, eating more and more without care. Feeling heavy, and wonderful, and all the things he missed about sopor.

He didn’t care as he was dragging his fingers along the glass to pull all of the slime up. He looked at the cleaned-out bowl, slightly amazed; nothing bad happened and he had finished it. He held it between his hands and looked at his elder. His smile was back, all vicious poison.

He stepped over to Gamzee, pulling the bowl from his hand; Gamzee was yanked up with it, though it didn’t particularly hurt. Nothing particularly hurt right now. His elder was still smiling at him, and he could feel a wave of nausea, his fear not completely subsided. Or the strange visual distortion was getting at him.

“You can have more.”

Gamzee tried to open his mouth to protest, but instead his ribs decided to rebel and tense up, cutting off his air once more. He remembered how deep breaths hurt before he took the slime and had to focus on taking shallower inhales. He shook his head despite his lack of voice. He didn’t need any more.

His ancestor dragged him over to the table and shoved him down on the floor. He knew his legs landed awkwardly, and he touched the joint to see if anything was broken; he didn’t feel any strange bumps. He elder handed him another bowl. He could feel a whine in his throat that he didn’t let come to fruition.

“Have your fill, I won’t stop you.”

He shook his head again. “No, s’all good.” His words were slurred. “I don’t…” His elder leaned down, crouching enough that it made Gamzee’s body react by ramming itself into the leg of the table. One of his ancestor’s fingers dipped into the bowl he was still holding, then pushed its way past Gamzee’s lips and teeth.

“I insist.” Gamzee gagged around the finger and could feel the slime along his tongue. “You eat your fill.” The finger pulled from his mouth and he sputtered, trying to spit it out. He knew his own limits, and the shit he was given was potent; he risked temporary paralysis, or worse. Not that he had ever gotten much worse than that, but he had a feeling it could get worse.

His elder grabbed more and when Gamzee’s mouth refused to open his free hand clawed at the joint of his jaw, forcing his mouth open enough that the finger could slide along his tongue. Gamzee tried to wrench his head back, finding nothing but a metal leg behind it. Again he attempted to spit, instead his mouth was caught and the free hand massaged along his throat, forcing him to swallow.

“I’m just giving you what you wanted. I don’t know why you’re being so difficult.” His elder was smirking as another dose pushed into his mouth.

Gamzee’s teeth sank into his elder’s finger, against his better judgment. He could taste blood in his mouth over the bitterness of the slime, making his mouth taste metallic. His ancestor’s fingers pulled from his mouth and he was slapped. Hard enough that his body slammed against the floor, his head spinning and his cheek burning. His ancestor wrenched him up by the hair and claws pushed against the hinge of his jaw once more.

“That was stupid, wasn’t it?” His ancestor was growling, that temper he didn’t want to see strangely close to boiling to the surface. Gamzee didn’t have the will to truly fight, or the control to fully surrender. Instead, his upper lips twitched in a half snarl. Claws dug in deeper and he could feel blood run down his neck and pool along his collarbone. “You want to behave, or do you want to get hurt?”

He tried to move his head out of the grip, but all that manged to do was dig the claws in deeper. He whined, and his ancestor must have taken that as a “yes, I’ll behave”, because another moment later fingers were invading his mouth again, and the bitterness of the slime was back, covering up the blood he’d managed to shed. He tried to snap his jaw closed again; maybe this time he’d get enough force he could bite through the finger. The claws holding his jaw kept that from being a possibility. The hand feeding him exchanged between shoving in his mouth and messaging his throat enough he would swallow. He whimpered and tried to pull his mouth closed. He lifted a hand up to his elder’s forearm and attempted to grip, but his joints were already boarded and riding on the sopor high.

He tried pleading with as much as he could move, but instead he was left feeling like he was floating, his vision distorting enough that he closed his eyes to keep a handle on the world. He tried gripping again, his limbs matching the weight of boulders. His ancestor’s hand pulled away from Gamzee’s face, and his jaw hung limply.

“Have you had enough?” Gamzee managed a half chirp, unable to fully control any of his resources anymore. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He would have tried to open his eyes, but with everything he was seeing he wasn’t sure if they were open or not and vision was tricky enough as it was. “My little clown, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. You have to be on your best behavior tomorrow.” His elder’s voice sounded distant, and he could hear his own breath rattling once more, nearly hollow in his throat and ears. “Don’t test my patience, little one. You asked, I give, and you should accept that. Understand?”

He chirped again, somewhere in the back of his throat. He tried to find each of his limbs, but failed. He wanted to affirm just so his elder would go away and he could keep on remembering how to breathe. Right now that was taxing enough, and he kept catching himself not doing it.

“Good.” His elder picked him up and he felt strange in the grip. Stranger then he should have. He already felt like he was floating, but now he felt too heavy to be floating. He could feel the movement, but he couldn’t register what was going on or where he was going. If his elder was even moving him. Though there was a good chance that was the case, and he wasn’t about to open his eyes to see, because that in general was a horrible idea. His elder stopped, and Gamzee felt the soft brush of hair against his forehead, before lips made landfall against his skin. He would have shuddered if he could have moved his body. He was pulled away from the larger body and set down on the floor.

“Sleep well, wriggler, and remember tomorrow’s a big day for you.”


	22. Chapter 22

He woke curled up in the closet. All his limbs were sore and he was reaching a level of self-loathing he only knew from his best friend. He stretched out his limbs, gritting his teeth, happy to not be bound up like… yesterday. Time was getting stupid, taking too long to pass and making him feel like he had been trapped here for way too long. Though he’d use it, to take his sweet time to stretch out his body, and hopefully make all his limbs respond like they did before injury.

His shoulders were hurting and he made a vow to himself that he wouldn’t allow his arms to be used as a leash anymore. He couldn’t rotate either one easily without pain spiking up and assaulting his senses. Breathing was still difficult, and he poked at his ribs, curious to see if they were broken. He hissed to keep himself from reacting in any more to the pain. Nothing made him scream, nothing poked out awkwardly; they might have just been bruised. He wasn’t a med, but he could at least see if something was majorly hurt.

Since he started, he continued to assess his injuries. Both of his forearms were bruised and the left one was scratched up, but not badly enough to be any real cause for concern. He was still half covered in flaking purple that made his nose curl and the scrapes on his jaw strain. Both his shoulders were no doubt bruised and not working. And he couldn’t forget the claw marks along his back.

Fighting got him jack-all anywhere, being docile didn’t mean he wouldn’t get hurt. He wanted to curse or cry about it, but he was sick of it. He tried behaving, and that didn’t turn out well. He might have been behaving with an ulterior motive, but that didn’t matter much.

He would have killed for a scalding hot shower, and a moment to feel clean. But he showered yesterday, and his ancestor had stayed in to watch, which wasn’t what he was going for. He just wanted a short moment to be away from this, and get his head on in some form of straight.

He slid over to the door, wishing that he could know the time once more. If he had been asleep an hour, he wanted to know he could go back to bed. If it had been ten, he wanted to be up so his ancestor didn’t have to wake him up. He pulled at the handle to see if it would budge; it didn’t. Not that he had expected it to, but it was worth a try.

His stomach growled, and he realized he was hungry; other than genet-no, slime, he hadn’t eaten yesterday. Not that he was unused to going without, but he’d just gotten in the habit. Seemed like a dumb thing to miss, he decided, on top of everything else he could miss. He leaned his head against the wall. There was a commotion outside. Sounds of more feet than he had ever seen in the block were moving. He could hear a mumbled voice, and he knew it wasn’t his ancestor’s. Even through the wall it was a little nasal. He could hear his ancestor’s growl respond shortly thereafter. He scooted over closer to the door; hopefully he could make out a few words. It took some maneuvering but he could finally pick out the words from the nasal voice; they were soft, but it would do.

“Sir, everything is ready for her arrival. Is there anything you need?”

“Probably, but nothing in relation to her. Are you sure all of it is ready? Including the new recruits. I’d hate to kill all of them and their mentors for fucking up.”

“Yes, sir.” It made Gamzee a little happy that he wasn’t he only one who got panicked around his ancestor. “Everyone is ready, we have prepared even though this is short notice.”

His elder laughed. “Of course it is. You’re dismissed, make sure they stay ready.”  
  
“Of course, sir.”

He could hear footsteps fade off. He was half-curious about what was happening, the answer to that was close to the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t pressing too hard for it. He really didn’t want to know the answer, and did it really matter if he did? He knew no matter what he was locked in this room until his ancestor said otherwise. His elder was quiet, and Gamzee was half tempted to beat on the door. But, other than getting his elder’s attention, it wouldn’t get him much. And he could forgo his ancestor’s attention for a while; hunger, thirst, and skin-crawling dirtiness could wait. He leaned back against the wall. Time, once again, was moving so slowly it was nearly backwards. He quickly learned how easy it was to go crazy in a small room with nothing to entertain him. He counted the tiles on the floor five times and he was sure there were twenty-three and three-quarters of them. He debated about if that half and other bit added up to three-fourths of a tile. He tried to find something else. Words polluted his mind and yesterday filtered back, and he found himself petting the back of his neck. He would have stopped himself, but the wriggler self-comfort felt good enough he couldn’t be assed to care if his elder saw him doing it.

Time was still crawling by, and if he stared at the wall any longer he was going to be able to see time move. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on another memory. His friends brought threats to mind, it brought yesterday back. He tried to find anything, but he had so few memories that weren’t connected to something his elder had wormed his way into.

He slammed his head against the wall and regretted it. His head already hurt, that just made it worse. He hated time, memories, and pain as much as the wounds he started to pick at. He scraped the flaking indigo from his skin. Anything to keep his mind away from memories and his head’s pounding. He didn’t even hear the steps that preceded the door sliding open.

“Already making yourself bleed.” He got air, and landed gracelessly into a crabwalk to get away from the door. “Oh hush, I’m not mad. I honestly don’t care if you want to make yourself bleed. It’s your choice after all.” There was sick humor in his ancestor’s voice. “I’d feed you but I’m sure your stomach hurts from yesterday. But I can let you drink something.” His elder held out a bowl. Gamzee reached up slowly, snatching it from his hand. He drank it down quickly, wincing at the taste and how he could feel it going down to his stomach. Slightly warm and all wrong.

His elder was looking at him, appraising him again. He really didn’t want to know why, but he was sure he’d find out. He finished the supposed-to-be-water-but-wasn’t. He pulled the bowl from his face, and looked up at his elder. He wished he could look like he would just give in. Enough that his elder would let him shower and have the day alone. A hand raised and his ancestor’s eyes flashed towards the bowl. Gamzee returned it to the grip and after a breath of a moment was left alone again. He hated it even more the second time around. Now his elder knew he was awake and he had nothing to do.

Time was slower than a dead slug inching across a frozen wasteland, and somehow that metaphor made sense to him. Again, he leaned by the door, trying to push his shoulders down, trying to fix them, trying to feel better. He doubted it would work, but it gave him something to do.

He wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there, it could have been ten minutes or it could have been six sweeps and for some unfortunate reason he didn’t starve to death. He heard voices again, his elder’s and another, higher, giddier. He slid back over to where he could eavesdrop, and realized this was a horrible habit and he should stop, he should just let the pain be a surprise. Then again, it might not have anything to do with him, and he could just be getting an idea of what was going on.

_“_ Lovey, you must remind me to hire you someone to decorate for you!”  
  
“It’s good to see you too, doll.” The Condescension was here. He cursed and cheered mentally, he was going to be stuck in this room all day. Maybe he’d curl back up and sleep. “Care for a drink?”

“Best to get me settled before you show me around, love? I’d love a drink.” There was a short silence, and he leaned back against the wall. He could hear faint murmurs, and he swore the Empress’s laughter could shatter glass, but he tried to hand himself over to sleep. He heard the faint mention of having before he slightly drifted off to sleep.

He had just started to feel heavy and leave the room, when sound interrupted his black peace. The first part was muffled, sleep and walls prevented the words from getting into his thinkpan in any form of comprehensible. “…him. Living dangerously, love.”

“He already bit me once.”

“Oh, need kisses to make it better?”

“Save your kisses for him, he’s through the door.” That pulled him up to awake more and he shook his head quickly to try to get his head on so he could translate words. The door opened, and he stopped moving and looked up. She wasn’t nearly as tall as his ancestor. Maybe if he stacked half of himself on his head he’d be as tall as her. Though she certainly had a lot more hair than his ancestor. Her horns arched together just like his fishsister’s. Her hair was mostly loose, but enough up that it didn’t drag on the floor.

“He’s adorable!” The squeak of joy nearly ruptured his eardrums and he winced away. “You weren’t lying. But pictures do him little justice.” She reached a hand down, curling fingers around his horn. He pulled his head back, trying to escape her grip. She chuckled. “I can’t wait to play with him.”

Realization crashed into his head and he yanked his head away, backing away from the both of them. He looked between them, and wanted to crawl back to the closest wall. His breathing was terribly fast again, and it was making his sides ache, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His limbs froze, and he wanted to back away, he wanted to hide. The room left him little ability to hide anyway, even if his body and him were on speaking terms.

Her fingers pulled through his tangled and vile hair. His lungs felt like they were about to collapse, he was gagging on nearly every breath. He wished he could look at one of them and pleading would help. That they could calm the other and not let this come to pass. But his elder had made his thoughts perfectly clear about the situation. And obviously the Empress was new, but she wasn’t going to stop him or herself from whatever this was. He thought he might try, but the idea of looking into her eyes and begging made his stomach do a backflip and nearly tear itself out of him.

His body responded to the subconscious mantra of “move”. He pulled out of her grasp and backed into the wall. The cuts on his back stung as he pressed hard against the surface, wishing it would just vanish and he could disappear. The Empress shook her head, metal jingling as she laughed.

“You’ve kept him scared. You haven’t voodoo’d him into a zombie yet. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m not heartless. I said I’d let you play with him, promised I’d leave something for you.”

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Come here, sweet-pea,” the Empress cooed at him. He felt his lip curl. “No, no, wittle wigwer, come here.” He didn’t move from pressing into the wall. He was too busy cursing mentally. His ancestor was bad enough, let alone having two of them. She moved towards him, and he almost raised his hands to defend himself, when he realized who he’d be attacking in front of what witness. She leaned down and slid her fingers along his cheek, and he tried to pull his head away from her, only managing to smack the side of his horn against the wall. She smiled with teeth like a shark, and once again trailed her fingers along his cheek. “Love… You’ve made him a mess.”

“He made himself a mess.” The Empress shot a glare toward his ancestor, pulling her hand away from Gamzee. He could feel himself physically sag. He still knew he was tense, his shoulders wouldn’t let him forget that. But at least she wasn’t touching him.

“I can’t parade the both of you around with him like this.”

Gamzee blinked at the conversation, horribly confused. He didn’t feel like being paraded around, whether clean or not. Actually, if they’d leave him to starve to death in this room that would be fine. He could deal with his ancestor, actually he would be happy to go back to that. At least he understood that. He didn’t know the Condesce, he didn’t know what she could possibly want from him.

“He can clean himself up, both his legs still work.” The Empress sighed, then turned, looking at his elder. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” he sighed. “Stop pouting.”

“No.”

“God, you’re still such a child sometimes.” Gamzee just watched as his elder’s fingers combed through the loose parts of her hair. The affection nearly made him evacuate his stomach. “I don’t know why you won’t show him like that.”

“Love, Gammy is filthy.”

“Your point?”

“He should at least get a bath. We have a lot of work to do on him. Since I crashed your party, it’s only fair I help you work him up. Make him perfect for you, and maybe even leave a little for me.”

“As if you mind. Working them up is your favorite part.” His elder smiled slightly. “That reminds me of that little seadweller…”

“Which one?”

“The one who kept passing out, she had that ingrown tooth, and the one whose fins were shredded an–”

“Oh, her! She was such a darling, especially when…” The Empress chuckled, cutting the thought short. “Turned out perfect, as always.”

Gamzee looked up at both of them, shoulders twitching in need of tears. Apparently this was a thing they did. Great, and he was their newest toy. The lump was back in his throat, and he couldn’t manage to swallow it down. They had practice, and he was going to get the brunt of all of it. He buried his head in his arms, trying to disappear again. He tried to force tears away; he didn’t need to look too weak.

“Does he really need a bath or can we just get on with this?”

“Easy, love, hush. All good things comes to those that wait. Anyway, I want to keep him alive, long enough to convince you to play around more often.”

“We don’t always get what we want, doll. I know, it’s surprising, but don’t be a spoiled brat about it.”

Her hand circled Gamzee’s horn and yanked his head up. He was forced to look at both of them. He tried not to look at his ancestor but failed miserably. The look sent arctic cold into his bones and made his breath rattle in his lungs. His bloodpusher was keeping its erratic beat.

“Look at him, how can you be so mean to something so adorable? Maybe you can keep him, love? Your own personal toy, you could train him however you wanted.”

His elder shook his head. “I’m not in the market for mindless toy.”

“Who said he had to be mindless? That one is your choice. But think about it, love. Now can I give him a bath?”

“If you want, I’m not going to stop you - just be careful, he’s still pretty volatile and I’d hate to have him attack you.”

“Of course he’s a little spit-fire, you were. Descendants are like copies of you with some personality differences. He’s going to keep fighting until we kill him or you psychic him into oblivion, or wherever minds go when they are totally consumed with fear. Which is why he’d be the perfect toy for you, always somewhere between fighting and compliance. Your descendant was made for your pleasure.” Gamzee tried yanking his head away, but it only managed to make the Empress aware she was still holding him.

“Come on, my little wigu, it’s bath time.” She pulled and he had to untangle himself and stand up relatively quickly, or his horn was going to snap off. He didn’t know how it was possible but he felt dirtier then before. He was sure a bath wouldn’t help any with it. She pulled him along using his horn, and at the very least he could be glad it wasn’t his arm.

She wasn’t joking when she said she was going to give him a bath, she didn’t let him do any of it. Instead she cooed at him, scrubbing the remaining purple off his skin, opening up scabs, washing out the wounds. She washed his hair, and he was left disgusted and confused. He was sick of both of them, but he just turned his head away unwilling to look at her.

“You are a well-behaved little thing, aren’t you?” It was just them in the shower-block. Her fingers ghosted along the claw marks on his cheek, her voice soft and gentle. If he didn’t know any better he’d believe she was on his side.

“Please.” He said it softly. “Don’t.” He could hear the weight of sadness in his voice. He hoped she couldn’t, but more than likely she could.

“You keep being good, I’ll see about convincing him to keep you around.” He dropped his head and could feel his face screwing up in sadness. “Don’t cry, I haven’t done anything to you.” She sounded put upon, like this was ruining her day. He wanted to smile at that thought, about time someone else’s day was ruined. “Better to be his toy than dead, right?”

He would have tried to respond with a no. But he didn’t even really know. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. His voice got lost anyway, instead it came out as broken noises that in some other world might qualify as language. All he knew right now was if he cried for the rest of his sweeps he might feel a little better, and he hated his weakness for that. He hated his emotions, he wanted to be angry and fight, but instead he was too scared to do anything. He had never felt less noble or able in his life.

She sang in low tones to him as she finished cleaning him up. She smiled softly at him as she motioned for him to get out of the bath. As soon as his feet hit the tile, a towel drapped over his shoulders and he clung to it. He didn’t dry himself; instead he stood there, staring at a point on the wall, hoping somehow he could merge with it.

“Will you keep being good and stay right there while I get you something to wear during our stroll?” He nodded, not moving his eyes away from the point he fixed them on. “What was that, darling?”

“I’ll stay right here,” he mumbled. He could already feel her bloodthirsty smile beside him. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he tried to hold in the shiver of disgust.

“That’s a good boy. Now.” She pulled the towel away from him, looking over his skin. She put a hand on her chin, in a joke of deep thought. “You’re probably part my descendant. I want you to look the part, so it may take a moment. Get yourself dry. But if you leave this room, I’m going to have to tell on you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It was strange how his voice worked without being connected to his throat. Her smile widened. She squeezed his shoulder before she left. He proceed to turn and take three swift steps, slamming bruised knees down on the floor, and getting rid of the water in his stomach. It tasted chalky and disgusting coming back up, and he would wash out his mouth but he was sure he’d just vomit that up too.

The thought of all of this kept punching his gut. Soon nothing but noise was coming out of his throat, and he forced himself to stop. That hurt his ribs just as much as talking. He pulled himself up swallowing dryly, wishing he could stomach water, but he didn’t want to give his body another reason to kneel. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed in resignation and dried himself off.

He tried not to think, he just mechanically went through the motions and hoped that somehow both of them would collapse dead and he’d be left alone. He’d rather be going crazy in that room than dealing with this. Maybe, and that was a shaky maybe, the Empress just wanted to play lusus, and his ancestor would have to hold off on his games. But he didn’t have any luck, and more than likely this was going to end horribly. All he could do was wait for it, wait for pain, and then wait for it to pass.

Then what? His elder got bored and killed him? Or if the Condescension had her way he’d be here for all his days as a toy for his ancestor. He fought the urge to dry-heave at the thought. At the very least he’d get used to it, he guessed. That wasn’t much of a consolation prize.

He held onto the towel like a lifeline, though it wasn’t going to do anything to help him. It was stupid how possessive he was getting over things. He set it down just so he’d stop, he wasn’t going to want after anything physical, because it would only hurt when it got taken away. If he could avoid some hurt he would. The Empress returned, carrying a few things in her hands. She smiled at him all sweet and caring, and maliciousness hid neatly behind her eyes. It wasn’t hidden well enough that he missed it. She set the cloth down and moved towards him.

“Now, before you get anything, Gammy, you have to do something for me.”

“What?” He let his eyes find something off to the side of his vision to focus on.

“Stick out your tongue.” His eyes met hers at the order. His elder wasn’t around, but he had a feeling that whole “obey-immediately” command was still in effect. He swallowed, though there wasn’t much to swallow, and stuck out his tongue. “More, darling, as far out as you can manage for me.”

He felt stupid, but obeyed regardless. She reached out and pinched the tip of it between her thumb and forefinger, lifting it up slightly, inspecting it. She had the smallest smile to give his confused expression. The pressure on his tongue increased and he wasn’t even aware that could hurt that much. She shifted and started to walk toward the pile of cloth she set down. He, unfortunately, had no choice but to follow.

She rustled around and he couldn’t exactly see what she was doing, but she turned to him after a moment, smile much more apparent. “Now, hold still.” He saw the flash of white. Polished white, and he closed his eyes tightly, he could feel his tongue shaking between her fingers. Pain ripped up his tongue and into his temples. He tried to pull it back into his mouth. That just slid the sharp point of the needle against his lip and made his tongue throb even more as she held on to not only the tip but both sides of the needle.

She pulled forward, his tongue back outside of his mouth. She grabbed something else and slid it to where the needle was before. She secured it, and after a moment she released his tongue with a new weight on it, and he could already feel his tongue swelling. He fought the reflex to try to push whatever it was out of his mouth. He knew it would be unsuccessful and would just make him look silly.

The Empress smiled at him and handed him the clothes. “Can you dress yourself?” He wanted to glare, he wanted to tell her she was an idiot. He wasn’t that badly damaged, even if he was he wouldn’t admit it. Seriously, looking that weak wasn’t high on his list. He took the clothes and to prove a point he dressed himself as fast as possible. She just smiled at him, looking peaceful and sweet. And he wanted to claw it off her face.

“You’re such a strong little thing.” She patted him on the head. “Now, open your mouth again.” He swallowed again, and opened his mouth, wondering what she was going to do to it now. She grabbed a few strands of hair. “Tongue out a bit sweetie.”

He closed his eyes so she couldn’t see him roll them. She wrapped the strands around the jewelry in his mouth. He tried to spit them out, instead they just tightened around it and pulled. His eyes closed harder, hair cutting into his tongue uncomfortably and pulling on the fresh wound.

“I don’t let my pets out without a leash. Now close your mouth, honey.” He closed his mouth and tried to ignore the awkwardness of having hair in his mouth. Let alone it holding him to her. Let alone her hair in his mouth as a leash. She walked and he soon found he didn’t have much room behind her, maybe two steps, before the hair would pull on him and make sure his feet got moving. Pulling away would be massively painful to his already throbbing tongue.He realized he could cut the hair with his teeth, if he could just get the right angle.

“I can feel that, you know,” she said simply. “Do you want to get in trouble, honey? It’ll be a short walk, I promise. But appearances must be met, and I love showing off my new toys, no matter if they are temporary or not.”

He sighed through his nose and followed, resigned to having a leash. He tried to look on the bright side; he was going to get a lay of the ship. That way, if he escaped, he could find his way to the hangar and get himself off the ship.


	23. Chapter 23

The “walk”, as she called it, was an entire tour of the ship. He had to ignore not only the hair in his mouth, which acted of its own volition occasionally, cutting into part of his tongue, but also the other trolls who would stare at him. He felt like they knew what was happening to him, and they were all going to be watching. That made the whole situation worse.

He wasn’t one for embarrassment, but every bruise, every cut, every inch of him felt like it was radiating with the news of what happened to him, what was happening to him. He dropped his chin to let his hair cover his face, hiding away from that shame. At least the amount of space between his wardens increased, he wasn’t always nearly walking on her heels in an attempt to keep up. He was glad he could hide behind his hair; he might have been an utter failure, but he didn’t have to see the faces of the trolls who knew that.

He realized, looking down at his shirt, that he had no visible mark of his symbol. As far as everyone looking at him was concerned he was without a sigil. He was, officially, marked as a slave. Though the troll-slave trade had been banned about 100 sweeps ago when they colonized other planets, apparently the Empress was above that rule. Either that or he looked like nothing more than an unbound prisoner.

That shouldn’t have hurt him as much as it did. He shared his sign with someone he couldn’t stand, but at the same time it was as much his identity as the name they shared, the blood in his veins, and… Perhaps those things an identity did not make, he thought somewhere. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a part of him, but the sigil’s absence made him feel even emptier then he had before, and he wasn’t sure how possible that was.

They carried on with their tour, and despite keeping his head down he was making a mental map of the ship. Unfortunately, they didn’t go to the hangar. No doubt the Condesce already knew where it was, but he could at least check off all the places it wasn’t. He picked up the pace, the hair around his tongue cutting in told him he was walking too slow and he heeded it.

One of the others staring said something about him, loud enough for him to hear. After that, all he could hear were the whispers. They only kept so quiet, the others didn’t want to disturb the two high-powered trolls in front of him. Loud enough so only he could hear their words. He closed his eyes, and realized he had to open them to walk. He wished he could lift up his claws and shove them so deep in his ears they bled and he didn’t have to hear anymore. Though damaging himself like that would probably prompt his ancestor to stop and publicly demean him more than he and his… something already were.

As they passed through an empty corridor he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He wanted to claw at his face. He wanted to unwrap the hair from his tongue and run. But now, now they all had seen him. They had seen that he was a bond-slave. A pet. A toy. A motherfucking fuckpuppet. He held his breath again and he could feel his lungs groan from strain as he held in rage and a scream he couldn’t let out. His claws dug into his wrist, ignoring the bruises but getting the anger out another way.

He couldn’t handle any more humiliation tonight. He just wanted to be done, completely done with all of this. Sadly, they weren’t done with him; instead he faced another group of whispering trolls, hearing quiet jests from the other trolls his age as they passed by the new recruits. He wanted to hate them, he wanted to hate every single on of them, but he didn’t have that much rage in him to put blame where it didn’t belong. It wasn’t their fault his ancestor (and the Empress, but that was still suspect) was a sadistic motherfucker. Their comments were only because they learned to hate. They learned to act that way.

One of the priests _kindly_ stopped the walk, and spoke to both his elder and the Empress, leaving Gamzee being leered at. Somehow, this was just as bad as when his face had been pressed against the desk. Somehow. One of the older trolls moved closer to him; he couldn’t see his face, but he could sense the presence. The body was too close for comfort, his body tensed up, a growl itching in his throat. The troll wasn’t only the one, the others were looking between them, he could feel each faint trail of eyes on him. He clenched his hands at his sides.

“Bond, you up for bid?” the troll hissed, low enough the two trolls holding him captive wouldn’t hear. He would have said something in return but his tongue was swollen, it would have come out slurred if he also didn’t have to contend with the hair in his mouth either. He made it his mission to act like he was deaf.

It was when the troll touched him he growled. “Fuck off.” It didn’t come out as slurred as he thought it would have. The hair in his mouth cut into his tongue and pulled him forward. He winced in the pain of the piercing jostling in the fresh wound. He was closer now, and he could hear the snickering behind him.

He closed his eyes, keeping his head down, breathing deeply. Not giving a fuck how it hurt his ribs, the pain took his mind off everything. He just wanted to go back to his ancestor’s block, and he couldn’t believe he found himself thinking that. If he had his wish he’d be dropped off on Alternia somewhere and everyone he interacted with since he got here would drop dead. Preferably in a horribly violent manner, just because it might make him feel better.

It wasn’t long before they were on the move again, and he could feel relief he loathed wash over him. He just wanted to go back, let them do whatever, go to sleep, and hopefully in that time he’d lose enough blood he just didn’t wake up. He didn’t like that, but it was his best and only option. Unless learning to enjoy this fucked up shit was an option, and he really didn’t think it was.

A few more circles, a few more rounds, and they headed back. He tried not to be happy about it. He knew that this was going to turn into something horrible. But at least something horrible was an evil he knew, it was better than whispers and staring. Anyway, the worst that could happen was his body was violated again, and he could handle that. He could handle having sex. Even if he didn’t want it, even if it hurt. He could deal with it and get through it. Maybe he could even impress them enough to get himself locked back up and he could just wait for something. What he didn’t know, but wait for it to be over in one way or another.

“Shall we take him to the back, or are you more interested in other entertainment, doll?”

“Love, the walk around was for show. He is why I’m here.”

“Understood.” His elder turned to him, and his eyes only half met the much taller troll’s. “Mind unhooking him?”

“Not at all, love.” The Empress turned around and had a hand under Gamzee’s chin before he even noticed her. Then again, he was too busy watching the other threat in the room. “Open your mouth.” She implored, so softly. His eyes tracked over to her, and he opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue, and he could feel the hair start to unwrap. When it got caught the Condesce lifted her hand and make sure it got untangled. Soon his mouth was clear of everything but the new jewelry. His eyes met hers and he tried to not look thankful for how gentle she was being.

She smiled at him, and he swore he was being tricked. But he still held on to some hope she’d be nicer than his elder. “Take him back, love. It’s time we get him usable.” His elder took a step forward, grabbing the back of Gamzee’s shirt and hoisting him up. “I totally love that you can do that, just pick them up and move them.”

“I would say thank you, but it’s a blood predisposition.” His elder held him up, and began walking, the Empress trailing slightly behind as they entered the corridor. If Gamzee was poetic, and he had time for other thoughts, he would think of giving the hallway a proper name. He didn’t know what was coming, and didn’t name it then. The hallway jogged to the left slightly and there were four doors at the end. He hadn’t been over here. He knew this was near where his elder slept. The closet he was contained in earlier was further back in the corridor.

He didn’t like there being four doors. It made him even more nervous than it should have. One of them obviously led to his elder’s block. But the other three were unknowns, and he was really tired of unknowns. The Condesce edged her way forward and produced a key, unlocking the second room to the right. She slid open the door, and walked inside, his ancestor following shortly there after.

This room Gamzee would name, he would name it “oh fuck no”, in that moment.

The floor was entirely concrete and it was stained. Stained with all colors of blood, from the lowest of maroons to the highest of violets. The room was clean, though. It even smelled clean, if not a little stale. Obviously, it had been a while since anyone had been inside.

“How long are you staying, doll?”

“Until we’re done. As far as the masses are be concerned we’re doing battle plans. My room all made up?”

“Of course, lief.”

“Speaking in the old tongues at me, you know that gets my heart fluttering. I’m fine to stay as long as I could want. I haven’t taken a break in many sweeps, they can’t begrudge me small vacation. The council can take over for a bit.”

“Wonderful, a group more corrupt than you.”

The Empress pressed her hand against her heart in a mock gesture of hurt. “That hurts, I’m not that corrupt.” She turned and walked over to one of the chairs, sweeping the cushion on it. She sat down and looked at his ancestor imploringly.

“Only partially corrupt.” His elder had a laugh in his voice. Gamzee wasn’t released, instead his elder shifted the hand that was holding him up. Seams were digging into his skin enough it was starting to hurt. “Is this an invitation to do whatever I want to him, as long as you find it entertaining?”

“You know what I want from him, love. But anything you do will be entertaining. He’s so fresh, he hasn’t stopped fighting.” She leaned back on the chair and rested the side of her cheek on her fist. His elder nodded and they moved again. He could hear the clinking of chains but couldn’t manage to see what his elder was doing.

“Then I’ll fix him up for you.” The Empress’s smile stabbed fear into his gut and he tried to keep his limbs from struggling. His ancestor chuckled. “You just scared him, doll.”

“I haven’t even done anything to him yet! He can’t be scared of me for no reason.”  
  
“He might be stupid and a complete waste of oxygen, but he has a perceptive awareness of when to be afraid.”

“He doesn’t need to be scared, we’re not going to hurt the poor thing any more than we have to.”

Gamzee knew that was a lie. He shifted his shoulders to see if he could pull himself free. It was futile and he knew it, but maybe if he slipped his arms up and pulled them out of the sleeves he could land on the floor and get running. Despite the entire ship knowing he was their… something, he might be able to hide away long enough that he could find the hangar, get a ship, and escape.

The metal stopped clinking and he felt his altitude decrease, and his feet brushed the ground. He managed to get his balance about him, so he wasn’t dropped onto the floor. His elder was distracted by something, and the Empress was looking over the actions of his elder with all that perfectly tuned royal detachment, though she and him were chatting about something. He would have tried to run, but a hand was still holding onto the fabric of his shirt and he wasn’t sure he could tear through it even if he pulled with all his strength. If he couldn’t, he’d just be punished for attempting to escape.

“Good choice, wigu, I wouldn’t try to run.” The Empress acknowledging his existence made him realize though both were casually chatting, they both still had an eye on him. “You should use the reclaimed ones. Insult to death.”

“I’d have to find them, doll. He might get a bright idea to try running.”

“No, he’s not that stupid. Don’t underestimate him, love. I know he doesn’t come across as intelligent but he isn’t going to run. He knows he has nowhere to go and we’d catch him before he got too far, and then he’d get hurt. It’s funny how fear of being in pain motivates trolls. He had the strength to tear through the hair I used to hold him. He could have run earlier. But tearing through it would hurt him, and if he was caught?” The Empress was smirking fondly at this knowledge. “He’s not dumb, let him go, I’ll watch him. I haven’t seen those shackles on a troll in over 200 sweeps.”

“Funny how he still serves his purpose of entertainment even after death.” The Empress smiled fondly at his ancestor, traces of nostalgia on her face. His elder pushed Gamzee forward, making him trip over a stair and land roughly on another, kneeling in front of the Condesce. She reached forward, pulling him the rest of the distance and into her arms.

She felt wrong against him, all muscle, bones, and putrid want. He would have struggled but he was back at remembering who he would be attacking and who would be witnessing said attack. Her fingers slid along his back, soft, calming, and he really tried to ignore the touches.

“You’re such a cute little thing. Reminds me of him when he was younger. Though he never was this small.”

“That’s because the dumbshit had been dosing himself with sopor since he was old enough to cook it.”

The Empress shook her head. “That was stupid, my little wigu.” She tapped his nose with the pad of her index finger. “Can you do me a favor?” He hoped it didn’t involve opening his mouth.

“What?” he muttered.

“Mind pulling off your clothes for me?” His eyebrows knitted together in silent pleading for that not to be a thing. He liked having cloth covering him again. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel more protected. “Oh, little one, we’re going to get them off of you one way or another. You can take them off, he can rip them off, I could cut them off. It all depends on how much you choose to get hurt.”

He wanted to protest, but he knew it would be futile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“See, lovey, he’s not stupid.”  
  
“More like he’s avoiding pain. At least according to your earlier comment.”

“Obviously, he isn’t so brain-rotted he can’t make that choice. Give him a little more credit.” She pulled her arms away. “Now, strip down for me.”

Gamzee stumbled back a few steps, almost tumbling down the two steps, detesting that this was his choice. Even if it was to avoid being hurt. He knew he couldn’t avoid that forever. He wished he would just give up and submit to the pain, but some small part of him still hoped he could convince them to stop.

His fingers touched the hem of the shirt and he pulled it over his head. He held it in one hand, unsure if he should just throw it on the floor, or if they wanted it somewhere. Then he’d be hurt for not holding onto it. Luckily, he could still pull the pants off with it in his hand.

The room dropped a few degrees in temperature and he looked at his feet. He wiggled his toes against the floor. Anything to avoid the Empress taking stock of him like he was a fresh piece of meat she was about to eat. She reached out a hand and he barely caught the movement as she ushered him forward. Once again in her arms, but now her cold hands were running along his back. She didn’t feel slimy, not that seadwellers usually did. But she felt cold enough he had to wonder if she was wet.

She petted along his bruises, her fingers just grazing the skin, sliding along the exposed outline of the bones in his back. Her touch was gentle enough that his skin tingled and he could feel himself getting hyper sensitive. He tried to suppress the shudder, he didn’t want to give any more indications to what he was feeling or thinking. He stayed completely still in her arms until his elder returned, metal clinking, and the empress squealed next to his ear. He didn’t think he could ever get used to that, nor did his hearing, his ear ringing for a long moment afterwords.

“I love that you’re a hoarder.”

“I prefer… collector of trophies.”

“Well, as fun as it was, there was no reason to keep that.”

“If I cared for their history or wants, I’d have a piece of memorabilia.”

“I wish we could show them just what we use them for.”

“That’s more possible than you think.”

“Really now?” The Empress raised an eyebrow. “You know something I don’t?”

He lifted his head and looked at his elder. Pleading, begging, silently saying in his mind, don’t bring them into this. Please. Anything. His elder caught his eye. “No, but I’m sure I could manage, doll.” His fingers pulled through Gamzee’s hair. “Arms up.” The command was soft, but harsher then the rest of his conversation. Gamzee’s shoulders protested dutifully as he lifted them above his head. He didn’t say anything. Metal weighed on his wrists, heavier and a little larger than the last pair, and he just breathed calmly, evenly. Trying to maintain any composure he might have had at some point. He’d be good, his elder did him a favor.

The Condesce released him and his elder pulled back on the cuffs, walking him over to the  center of the room. The Empress leaned back in her chair, a smile on her face, like something waiting for him to die so she could pick over his carcass. Another clanking of metal and his wrists were pulled above his head. His shoulder strained, and he couldn’t hold in the gasp of pain. His elder pulled on what he assumed was the chain again, and Gamzee’s vision blacked out momentarily as his shoulder popped again.The sound echoed in his ears, and jostled all of his insides into a tense mess.

Once his vision returned he was pulled higher, he had to point his toe to touch the ground and soon enough that wasn’t even enough. His shoulders holding his weight made tears push past his eyes, pain shooting up to his hands and down his sides. Vibrating through him like a sick tune. It wasn’t just his shoulders now, every joint from his wrists down felt like they were going to be pulled apart and tear from the rest of his body. This was short-lived and he tried not to be relieved. His feet were shackled into something that looked like a board with cuffs on it, suspended from the ceiling like an odd swing, giving him a false floor.

“What are you going to do?” The Empress sounded giddy and curious. He closed his eyes and willed the conversation away. He willed himself anywhere but here. Back on Alternia watching the legions of drones killing high and lowbloods they deemed unfit to serve. Back to his beach, back to almost drowning in the ocean. Anywhere but here.

“It’s a surprise.” It didn’t work. “He just can’t squirm too much.” His elder put a finger under Gamzee’s chin and tilted his head back enough to secure something around his neck and latch it to his biceps, making moving his head down impossible. Instead, he was forced to look straight forward. If he opened his eyes, he knew he’d either see his ancestor or the Empress.

A finger slid along his lip. It was a silent command: Open your mouth. Open your eyes. Watch what we can do to you. He didn’t want to watch, so he just split his lips. Half thinking he knew what to expect, the other part of him telling him he had to prepare for anything. The finger pushed past his lips and slid along his swollen tongue. He opened his mouth wider and another finger snaked in grabbing it. He whined as best he could with fingers pinching onto his tongue. His elder pulled his tongue from his mouth with enough force that Gamzee opened his eyes anyway, his body lurched in the shackles trying to attack from the pain.

“Now, little one, this can go a couple of ways.” His eyes met his ancestor’s. The grip on his tongue was strong enough he could already feel the tip of it going numb. He would have nodded or given affirmation but it was nearly impossible with the way he was tied up and held. “You can keep your tongue out of the way so I don’t have to cut it off.” The Empress made a noise of protest. His elder ignored it. “If I do have to cut it off, you become a lot less fun, and I can’t promise you’d survive the blood loss.” His bloodlink pulled on his tongue shaking it from side to side enough he attempted to pull away. “Now, if you keep it away from what I’m doing, I’ll reward you. Your call.”

His tongue was released, and despite numbness and the pain arcing along his mouth, he spoke. “I’ll be good,” he whispered, words slurred into a barely recognizable mess of noise. He pulled his tongue to the back of his mouth. His elder smiled and after a moment Gamzee was ordered to open his mouth again. He did, once again closing his eyes. Still teetering on expecting something, and knowing it. Though cold metal pulling back on the inside of his cheeks was not what he expected.

“Are you going to pull them out?” His bloodpusher throbbed in his chest.

“No,” his elder added simply. Gamzee could hear the humor in his voice. The metal in his mouth expanded and made sure his ancestor could shove as many fingers as he could want into Gamzee’s mouth. Something pressed against the back joint, making it impossible for him to close his mouth. He heard the clack of heels on the floor that told him the Empress was moving closer.

“Once this is done, I can see about properly using your mouth,” his elder mumbled. Another thought made into a sentence.

The Empress laughed. “You can’t even fit in a mouth, not without ripping it open.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

Gamzee found quickly that it was hard to swallow with his mouth held open like this. He wanted to protest and beg them to stop what they were doing. His ancestor’s finger trailed over the ridges of his teeth. The touch left him and he fought the urge to look, he didn’t really need to know what was coming next.

He already had an idea.

There was a pause and tension seeped into the room. The air was thick with it, and if he had less self-control he would have opened his eyes just to break it and see what was coming. He would let the tension pull all the slightly stale oxygen out of the room, he would let it seep into his every pore. He pulled on the cuffs and realized the inside felt weird. Something about it felt off, and he focused on trying to figure out what was on the inside of the metal. It felt like the metal was peeling, though that wasn’t something metal did. It was in a few places, not all over, and they stuck out oddly against his skin.

Something ghosted across his lower lip. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but whatever was about to happen was about to happen. He heard a small gasp from the Empress. It sounded more pleased than surprised, and his stomach dropped below the board holding him up. It ran along his back teeth, just the tip of whatever it was, and it made a clicking sound and a weird grating noise. His brain implored him to get an idea of what it was. He refused its urgings, holding his eyes tighter.

Then came the grating; at first it was just noise, just a weird noise that echoed inside his head over and over again. He could taste the dust of something on his tongue and pressure on his back teeth. Going back and forth, back and forth, and it was impossible to swallow, though he needed to. His backmost teeth felt like he bit directly into ice and it made him want to put his tongue over them to warm them, but that wasn’t an option.

He tried to keep his tongue away. Then the pain came; it wasn’t sudden, just a dull ache spread slowly through his teeth, gums, and jaw. Then it sharpened and intensified. Whatever it was still moving along his backmost teeth. Sharp pain spiking up to his temples and down to the bottom of his jaw. He tried to shove his head away, but the position made it impossible. He tongue tried to press it away, an unconscious effort, instead all it did was stab into the already sore muscle and he chirped in pain, pulling it back.

With that the movement increased. He quickly lost himself to the pain, crying, struggling, making as many noises as he could with every single inch of his mouth exposed, his tongue slammed against his soft palate and saliva unable to be swallowed and half-choking him. He tried to pull away again, and the metal stabbed into his cheek. The pain moved from sharp to terrible. He tried to yank away again, the back of his head hitting his biceps and making it impossible to move away.

There was copper on his tongue and he understood he was bleeding. He understood what was happening, but it still took him by surprise that he was bleeding. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed any longer despite the pain, his expression was going to be the only thing that allowed him to beg and he’d give anything for this to be over.

He was an idiot for wanting to be back here, and he had to deal with the consequences of his wish. He had to pick a moment in the pain when he could open his eyes and they wouldn’t automatically close again, and the stinging, icy, grinding sensation wasn’t going to leave him anytime soon.

He managed to get his eyes open, vision foggy and watery from tears. He blinked quickly to dispel them. His elder was holding the file, watching his motions intently, the Empress beside him. She was watching his expressions of pain with a big self-satisfied smirk on her face. His elder paused when he noticed that Gamzee had opened his eyes. The older troll smirked at him, and rage turned in his stomach.

With the filing stopped, his mouth pounded in a new kind of agony. His bloodlink was pressing the tip against the exposed inside of his his tooth. He shook with tears, trying to plead for him to stop. Gamzee’s ancestor obviously got the message and looked at his partner in this crime.

“How many teeth do trolls have?”

“Twenty-eight, if I recall. Why, love?”

“Well, he has twenty-seven now… and I have that many left to do.”

Gamzee whined as well as he could. That couldn’t have just been one, the entire right side of his mouth was throbbing, screaming for him to get away from the pain, and he couldn’t. The file pulled from pressing against the tooth, and moved forward. He closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight, unable to stop the tears, the reactions to pain, and the anger burning in his gut.

It was three teeth before numbness set in, he relaxed against the shackles, his shoulder, his mouth, his head, everything just stopped hurting. He chanted to himself to keep the numbness for twenty-four more teeth. His ancestor finished the tooth and pulled the file out. Gamzee opened his eyes and saw it streaked with purple, most of the texture gone from one side. He hadn’t realized his teeth were that strong.

“He’s gone numb.”

“Wine?”

“Sounds fine, doll.”

With that they left him hanging in the room, the door closing behind them. He struggled more freely in the shackles, trying to slip one hand out. But the rough interior texture cut at his wrists, and made it impossible to slip through without killing himself. Which, depending on how long they were gone, might be a better option. He tried tilting his neck down and failed. He could only swallow so much blood, and the right side of his mouth didn’t seem to stop bleeding. He maneuvered his tongue the best he could trying to nudge the blood out of his mouth, only succeeding in covering his chin with it, and as he pushed it out he could hear it drip to the board. Some sick graffiti he was creating by his feet. One day another troll would see it, maybe they’d wonder about the troll that made it.

Numbness was still flooding his system, he was doing things mechanically, like this was a normal everyday occurrence for him. Maybe one day it would be. Theoretically, one day his teeth would come back and he’d have to deal with this again. The thought didn’t bug him as much as it should have. He felt disconnected from everything. All he knew was he could taste blood, and his stomach was starting to hurt, so he properly shouldn’t let any more run down his throat. It wasn’t like he could really swallow.

It became a routine, a motion he could repeat. He’d push the tip of his tongue down, creating a valley, then he’d push it up quickly over his bottom lip, and it would flow out of his mouth. How many others had fallen into this? He thought about the trolls connected to all the colors. He wasn’t sure how much was saliva and how much was blood. It all tasted like blood.

How many others had they tortured? Probably more than he could count, just like all the sweeps both of them must have lived. Blood pushed out of his mouth, cold and warm all at the same time. He was slowly feeling better about the state of his mouth. It was tasting less like blood. He was sure it should hurt, but he couldn’t feel it, so it was all good. He moved his tongue over the area. There were a few pieces of his filed teeth left in his mouth, but they were barely there and smooth. He tongued at them gently, he didn’t want more blood in his mouth.

It was strange. He knew they were his teeth, and they were in his mouth. But it was alien to him, strange that the texture was in his mouth. He stopped moving his tongue against them, just in case they started bleeding. He rattled the chains again, knowing (just like with his teeth) that he should escape. He really didn’t think it was possible, and he couldn’t quite push himself to try to escape.

His shoulders were starting to hurt again, and the pain was back, duller then before. He realized his ancestor and the Empress would be back. They might be a little drunk, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. They could have gone to sleep, he didn’t know how long it had been, and time felt like it was stretching out into infinity and a minute equaled a day. At the same time it seemed to be passing rapidly in all the wrong places.

He wiggled in the chains again and waited. He would have tried to sleep, but the position was uncomfortable and if he relaxed too much his wrists, elbows, and shoulders all knocked on his nerves in anger, telling him to keep the weight off them. He pulled on the chains agai, trying to get his feet out. Then he had a realization; even if he pulled his wrists or legs out there was no way to undo the one latched to his neck and biceps. He’d just be chained to the pseudo floor, or dangling from his wrists with free hands and his arms still above his head. Then they’d walk in. That complicated things quite a bit. He sighed; it sounded odd against his open mouth, and it was weird how the air made him realize how empty part of him felt. He had to keep it in mind not to tongue at the wounds on the side of his mouth, though for some reason he was drawn to doing it. He decided his wants were pretty fucked up, and he needed to learn how to better ignore them. Or get better ones.

Time inched and flew by simultaneously and he found himself tonguing the wound again when the door opened. Numbness was fading not entirely gone, but clinging on desperately like spider silk on a plant during a windstorm. Maybe if he put himself back in pain he could make it come back and they’d lose interest in this entirely. They didn’t speak, just walked back in, and he watched them retake their positions. The Condesce was holding a glass, and his elder reached forward and held Gamzee’s chin, with the same amount of care in both their hands.

“How are you feeling?” He could smell the wine. Deep, bitter, dark, though the hint of sweetness lingered, and so red it was nearly black. He made some sort of noise. He didn’t know what words he was going to form. Ones he couldn’t make without his lips and the metal pressing back against his jaw making sure his teeth stayed apart. His ancestor smiled, his claws dipped under Gamzee’s chin and petted him softly, confusing his nerves, though not dulling the pain. It only seemed to once again incite it. The file was produced again, cleaned of his blood. “Then I guess you’re ready, we still have quite a few teeth to do.”

He made another noise, he knew that was supposed to be a no. But it came out more like a “nar” then anything. This time the file attacked the other side of his teeth. Numbness set in faster this time, and they didn’t leave, instead his elder produced a cloth and wiped off his blood, taking great care to let him watch him cleaning it. Once it was just metal again, the Empress pulled it from his fingers and dipped it into her remaining wine.

“He’s probably parched, and he can’t swallow. We can at least give him a taste.” She pulled herself up and slid the file along his tongue, it felt rough and strange against it. The wine was as bitter as it smelled. Leaving that patch of his tongue drier then it was before. His elder shook his head.

“Are you going to drink the rest of that now?”

“No.” She shrugged the slightest amount. “I was done anyway.”

As fast as the numbness came on it faded, and they seemed to notice when it would come to an end and go until he stopped sobbing from the pain. The back top and bottom teeth had been filed down to stubs that wouldn’t qualify as teeth even in the weakest of plant-eating beast. The numbness took a holiday, and he was left with aching and tears that wouldn’t stop.

Blood was painting most of the front of him now. His ancestor was careless with the scabs, or whatever formed in his mouth to keep it from bleeding. He had to wonder if it was intentional, as more blood filled his mouth. With the file there he couldn’t push it out, instead he’d choke on it. His ancestor had to occasionally slide his fingers along Gamzee’s tongue and pull the blood away from suffocating him.

He tried talking again and found his tongue had too much room to move around. It made him flinch when he’d try. He still attempted, he just wanted them to pull out the rest and be done. He had eleven teeth left to file down, or have removed by some method. They were all in the front, and were some of his longest teeth. He’d be able to see, smell, and perhaps even feel it more.

“Hand me your wine,” his elder said suddenly. The chains rattled, proving Gamzee to still be terrified of him. The Empress obliged, handing him the glass. His other hand grabbed the chain above Gamzee’s head and tilted him back. Gamzee had enough time to look terrified before it poured into his mouth like an bitter inferno of torment, lighting up all the nerves in the back of his mouth. He gasped at the wrong time and tried to cough to get the liquid up, making more get into his lungs. He felt like he was drowning.

He was tilted forward and blood, saliva, and the wine he hadn’t inhaled splashed onto the floor. He sputtered and coughed the best he could with the gag, his inability, and pain. He could feel himself gagging, and for some reason it never turned into getting the blood out of his sour stomach. Just gags, coughing, and bleeding towards the floor.

“You’re supposed to swallow, not inhale it, poppet.” The Empress patted his back, stroking the skin she patted after. He wanted to glare, but he couldn’t move his head to where it would be seen. Instead he watched how his shade of purple blended with the cacophony of colors below him. “Do you want to leave the rest for tomorrow?”

“No, he’s not going to pass out. Remember, highbloods are always tougher than lowbloods. It will take quite a bit to make him lose consciousness. He’s fine to continue, if not I’ll find a way to rouse him. It wouldn’t be nice of him to tease you for so long and not let you have relief.”

Gamzee was readjusted back to his original position. The file was back in his mouth soon after and he tried to scream as he felt it cut into his lower canine. For some reason that was more painful than the back teeth. He had to watch as tears were making his vision half focus on the motion. Pain spiked all the way down his neck, collarbones, and chest. He couldn’t pull away, no matter how he tried, and when he managed to get a little further back his elder grabbed his back and pulled him forward again, watching the file rake over his teeth with intensity. He tried to lift his chin, close his eyes, and let it end. The noise still echoed around his head, and he couldn’t forget the pain, he couldn’t distance himself. He longed for numbness and if he had it he might have been able to out-wait them.

The blood smelled wrong, sweet and bitter all at the same time. The filings from his teeth had a smell, a taste like burnt popcorn or burning hair. The file was more iron than copper. Hotter than his tongue. It sounded like nails scraping over plaster, only faster, much faster. Echoing in his head and inner ears as a noise he wouldn’t forget even if he somehow freed his hands and shoved the file into his thinkpan via his eyes. His elder’s hand was gripping his back, not painfully, not like he was trying to stop him from struggling, massaging the muscles slightly, Gamzee’s body conflicted though there was nothing but pain.

He couldn’t even describe the pain as his bottom teeth vanished into stubs of what they once were. It made residence in all his muscles, covered him in agony and settled to the very core of him. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to die, he wanted to scream, but everything in him was gone as the file pulled away from the bottom jaw. His tongue slid over the smooth bumps he once called his teeth. His eyes were unfocused on some point in the wall, his heart was throbbing in his chest and he hardly registered it.

He was done, he knew he had one more row to go, and he knew it probably wasn’t going to stop. The pad of a finger ran over sensitive nerves that reignited the agony inside him. He was past tears, past pain. Transcending somewhere else he couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t numbness, he was acutely aware of the pain. The finger pushed into his mouth, going to empty his mouth of blood so his quick gasps for air stopped sounding crackled by the fluid blocking their path.

In a final bout of hope, he ignored his pain, trailing his tongue along the finger. Begging, pleading to be done. He was cautious to avoid his top teeth, pressing it against the throbbing of his lower gums. If he could have closed his mouth he would have and he would have hopefully made up for any inexperience with eagerness.

Anything to end this.

His elder didn’t pull away, and Gamzee attempted to refocus his eyes, but all of him was distant, while still firmly rooted in the spot. He didn’t like the confusion, but it was there and he’d have to deal with it. His mouth was getting too dry to mean much of anything to his wish. He broke his lavishing up long enough to stab into a relatively fresh scab and coat the inside of his mouth with blood again, tracing and exploring invisible lines along the digit. He closed his eyes to get them back in the game, and prayed that when they opened he could focus and he could impress both of them.

His eyes opened, his vision still fuzzy, but he could vaguely focus. His elder was watching his motions with a look of bemusement. The Empress was smiling softly at him, it was almost kind. In him he could feel the hope inflate just slightly. Perhaps that was part of the key to surviving; being keen to this. He could try, or at the very least fake that until they killed him.

“In all my sweeps, I’ve only seen one other troll try that through that much pain,” the Empress said softly. She shifted closer, her fingers running down the vein in his neck. He could feel his pulse shivering against her frozen fingers.

“I don’t mind,” his elder said, with a smile threatening to haunt every part of Gamzee’s mind. “I like seeing the talents his tongue has without all that horrible indecision.”

“He has six left to lose, should we just pull them?” The Empress looked at his ancestor. She was just asking, not trying to help, though apparently his message had gotten through. He hoped there would be a yes and this could just end. Not that he thought pulling his teeth out would be any better, but it wasn’t the slow grating. The hours he must have spent there losing tiny layers of his teeth one stroke at a time. His elder had removed 22 of them that way. He could pull six, he could do whatever and then curl up somewhere, poke at the scabs in his mouth and bleed out.

“No.” His elder spoke only after turning to Condesce. “He still bit me. I can’t cut him slack when he finally does decided to behave.” The finger pulled from his mouth, covered in blood that matched what flowed through him. He was ready for tears again. “Punishments have to be dealt in full or they lose their effectiveness.”

The file raised again, pressing against his top remaining teeth. He knew by now it was dull, it would take longer, there wasn’t any escape from it. Every hope in him shattered as it moved. The burning smell back. He was left somewhere bleak, every part of his face stabbed into with burning hot needles into every centimeter of skin, nerve, and muscle. Each tooth a brand new place of his face felt like it was curling violently up in to a tight knot and readying itself to rip away from him.

It was dark where he found himself. Dark and full of bitter anger. Anger that filtered over to everyone he could. His ancestor and the Condesce were the first victims of it. They were torturing him for no decipherable reason. He was next for being too stupid and weak to truly fight against them. Then every troll he had felt watching him walk behind them for their disinterest in trying to help.

To Eridan, who knew what was coming, but just told him he couldn’t. He didn’t know if it was comfort him, tell him, or deal with it. But he’d make sure if he saw him again he had to deal with it. His anger bubbled over to Equius who told him to submit. If he lived, and somehow survived whatever they were going to do to him, he was going to remove the rest of his teeth and see how he liked it. Despite his constant pleas for orders, he was sure Equius would like this or want it.

His ancestor finally pulled the file away. Gamzee ran his tongue over the stubs of his teeth. Tongue running over each smooth edge that was once something he could have defended himself with. Punishment for a bite he inflicted out of reflex. What did they expect? You shove claws down his throat, he was going to bite. Though he knew the other reason, and he wouldn’t think about it. When it came he’d close his eyes and just do it.

The bit pressing against the back part of his gums gave. The arms holding his lips open relaxed and he finally had some movement back in his face. He really didn’t want it, moving hurt. His entire head hurt. The gag was removed, and he watched his ancestor set it to the side on a table he hadn’t noticed before. He closed his mouth, not hearing the familiar click of his teeth locking together. Instead his mouth felt wrongly empty. His lip trembled with the reassertion that his teeth were gone. He didn’t even have a few he could collect, instead they were dust he swallowed, or decorated the motley of colors on the floor. Confetti to the party of what remained of mutilated trolls decorating the floor.

“Perfect.” His eyes flashed up to his ancestor. His stomach would have dropped in nervousness if he could feel anything other than loss and anger. He would have thought to instead of using his new mobility to collect the blood on his tongue. He took a breath, and spit it at his ancestor. Marring his cheek with blood and saliva. Breathing faster afterwards just to deal with pain.

His elder raised his hand to the streak, it was in slow motion. A small smile forming on his lips. Then a pause; Gamzee wasn’t sure if it was from time’s disorientation or if there really was one. The back of his hand collided with Gamzee’s cheek, his head moving to the whiplash as much as it could in the bindings, stretching the muscles awkwardly, and pinching the other side. He might have felt it more if a new crash of agony didn’t echo around his face. He could feel it already bruising, sharp, stinging, throbbing. His mouth was bleeding again, this time more profusely than before. He just opened his mouth and let it drain instead of swallowing it.

“Fighting until the very end.” The Condesce had a wry little smirk. “Unchain him.” She walked back over to her chair.

First his feet were free and he tried kicking before the fake floor was dropped and that pain in every joint of his arm was back. The neck binding came off next and was dropped onto the floor with a nasty clank, the front of it coated in blood. He was lowered to the floor unceremoniously, his knees folding unwilling to hold him up. The shackles around his wrists were only half undone and his arms relocated behind him. He stayed where his elder had dropped him. He wasn’t going to try anything, not with his shoulders as weirdly positioned as they were, and not with everything above them throbbing.

His elder growled or sighed, or something. He reached down and grabbed Gamzee by the hair, yanking him up to his knees. He didn’t move to help, he already knew that didn’t get him out of anything. His knees dragged along rough concrete, knocked against both the stairs, and he’d pay attention to the pain if he could do anything to stop any of this. His elder gave him a final shove and the side of his face was against the Empress’s leg.

He recognized the sound of the teeth of a zipper separating. He lifted his head and saw her fingers holding the tab. The suit she was wearing was already halfway off. He moved back quickly. Not right now, not with this much pain. He lost his balance and tumbled down the two steps, landing on his bound arms twisting his forearm sharply. He couldn’t stop the grunt of pain. No teeth to hold on to his lip. He tried to pull his legs out from being curved under him. That just made the pain in his arms sing a new tune and added to the throbbing in his head.

The Empress stood and he watched the layer of cloth be shed, kicked off to a forgotten corner. She stepped down both the stairs, still the epitome of grace and royalty. Her legs situated to either side of his arms. She reached down and grabbed onto his hair. For looking weak she could lift him with ease.

“You’re such a tease.” She yanked him higher. “Time to take care of the problems you created.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Stick your tongue out.” And he thought his mouth couldn’t take any more abuse. He didn’t want to, and he wouldn’t. They could force his mouth open, his hands to move, his legs to spread, and other parts of his body to do whatever. But his tongue was up to his own discretion. She sighed and pulled him up anyway. “Fine, I have other ways.” She moved forward slightly and he closed his eyes trying to avoid the entire image his sight-field was giving him. His body lifted higher, and he could feel wetness on his lips, chin, and part of his nose.

He held his breath, he would try to hold it until this was all said and done. A daring attempt, but it was better than dealing with this. She dragged his face along her seedflap, and it made his already-stinging face remind him it still hurt and probably wouldn’t stop for a long while. She moved her legs, situating them so his lips, chin, and every painful place on him pressed against her, using his pain to further her arousal. He knew at a certain point she was going to have to find another way to fuck herself on him. That thought sent a shiver down his spine.

In one of those moments where a troll thinks rationally about things, he weighed his options. He couldn’t hold his breath long enough to get her off this way. Either his nose, hands, or bulge would be called to take care of her. Then he would be confronted with the whole of this action. It would hurt more if he didn’t just take matters into his own… mouth. She would get pissed off she wasn’t getting what she wanted, just like his elder. If he just got this done, it would be over. That was all he could fight towards, getting things over with.

He took a mental breath of preparation and opened his mouth, sliding his tongue out from between his lips. She gasped when it made contact. Holding his breath cut the taste down substantially. Still the sour, salty, strangeness coated his tongue, kicking out the copper taste his mouth previously had. It wasn’t grainy but it tasted like it was, leaving his tongue slightly drier then it had been. Her legs came together, hand gripping his hair tighter, thighs cutting out sound, and he knew he couldn’t see, not with where his face was held. She relaxed her legs after a moment.

“That’s it, sweetie.” Her voice was breathy, and if he wasn’t in a position where it would just come back, he might have thrown up all the blood he swallowed. He edged his tongue along inside her, trying to pull himself up, get the grip out of his hair, and get his arms back to not being pressed awkwardly in the shackles. She had an end goal in mind, she’d keep him in the position, and shove his face harder against her.

Something in him, trying to get him away from this situation, realized that they weren’t alone in the room. He realized he was laying on a bloody floor. He realized his that his ancestor was watching him orally service the Empress on the floor of their torture room. It actually would sound quite funny if it was another troll it was happening to. But having to deal with the taste, the smell, and that lingering _knowledge_ , he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even his worst platonic enemy. He’d rather just have them killed by being slowly trampled on by a horde of tinkerbulls. Both his situation and his hypothetical platonic enemies’ were equally ridiculous. One was just nicer.

He forced himself to be more motivated about the action. He didn’t want to get hurt any more for somehow not pleasing the Empress, even though she was holding him there and could do nearly whatever she liked as long as he kept his tongue moving. Ignoring the way his tongue was throbbing, ignoring how sick the thought was making him, let alone the actual action, he forced himself to push his tongue deeper into the fluid covered folds. Every time he moved, he seemed to make her body do something new. He tried to keep it where he would be further away and hopefully keep himself from breathing her in.

She shuddered, her fingers tensing in his hair, pulling at it roughly, claws sliding along his scalp. She sighed the slightest amount. Even with his inexperience he knew that was a sigh of relief. She tried to push his head down further, but both their positions made that nearly impossible. Her hand went slack and her grip, the only thing holding him up, vanished. He braced himself to hit his head on the floor. Instead his hands and arms twisted painfully below him, before his weight crashed on them. It saved him from a head injury, but his arms were now throbbing worse than his jaw.

He let out a whine, trying to wiggle, rearranging his arms, and hopefully making them hurt less. He just ran into the Empress’s legs, holding him tighter in nearly the same position he had fallen in. He opened his eyes, trying to understand. He regretted it immediately. He never had wanted to get that much visual detail of the Empress’s parts.

She shifted herself, settling her knees on either side of his head. The part of her bulge already exposed snaked along his forehead. He tried not to shudder in disgust. She moaned and let it trail along the skin for a moment searching for anything to curl with. He could handle quite a bit of this. He didn’t _like_ it, but he could handle it. But the whole bulge obsession with his face was crossing some line he had in his mind.

She shifted again, closing the gap. Thoughts left his mind, and he forgot to hold his breath fast enough. Musty skin, arousal, pheromones, and the vague smell of whatever fabric her clothes were made of assaulted his senses. He tried to squirm away, just a little, enough to get away from most of the smell, but she wasn’t having any of it. Her fingers twisted in his hair, claws poised dangerously against his scalp. She yanked him forward the rest of the distance.

“Get your tongue back to work.” He tried holding his breath again, but the damage had been done. His tongue pushed from between his lips and slid along folds of skin. He honestly had no idea what he was doing, and he needed to breathe, and he didn’t know if that was going to be possible. Her fingers brushed through his hair, nails clawing just slightly. “That’s it.” He moved his tongue along her, trying to figure out what she wanted and how to make happen so this could end.

He felt pressure building in his chest and throat. His arms shifted, trying to push whatever away so he could breathe. That just sent more pain up to his head. His legs started kicking next and she pulled herself up long enough for him to grab a quick desperate breath before his face was shoved back against her nook.

His eyes set themselves shut tight, as he forced his tongue deeper against the slick skin, sour with genetic material. Her hands gripped onto his hair, pulling her claws through it on occasion. Her bulge was sliding along his skin, still trying to find something to coil with, though she made no attempt for him to do anything with it. He could feel it trailing up to her hands. She didn’t seem to be making any attempts with it either. Her hips pulled up briefly and halfway through his inhale she pushed back down against him.

“Get your tongue all the way out.” Her voice was terribly breathy, her body starting to move against his face. He whined and that just made her shudder. Disregarding the fact his whole mouth hurt, he pushed the piercing past his lips. She shivered, rocking against his tongue. His jaw spiked in agony, though the whole act of opening his mouth made him hurt more, let alone all the tensing she was doing around him.

She let him breathe again before she pushed against him roughly, her hips moved forward. Cutting off oxygen completely, forcing him to deal with parts of the Empress he really didn’t want anything to do with. It wasn’t long before his body burned with the need of oxygen. She held him closer, moaning louder as his body reacted. “Oh fuck, keep struggling.”

It wasn’t like he couldn’t comply. It was a natural reaction. Her claws dug into his scalp and he yelped. His head was getting fuzzy from lack of oxygen. He could feel all his muscles starting to tighten, telling him he was suffocating. “Keep fucking squirming.” He made some type of noise against her, using up precious oxygen. She pulled him back enough that he caught almost two breaths from his hyperventilation before he was shoved against her again.

He flinched, attempting to work slowly, preserve his oxygen. His tongue pushed deeper, the taste was stronger, and it incited his gag reflex. He only heard half of her moan before white noise consumed his ears as he thighs clenched onto his head again. He was a tiny bit happy they didn’t grab onto his jaw. His tongue shifted against other parts just to hopefully ignore the strongest tasting part. Her thighs relaxed, slightly enough for him to make out her voice.

“No, no,” she said. Her claws digging into his scalp. “Go back. Back.” He didn’t want to swallow, but he did and gagged again. He shifted his tongue back down, forcing himself to not gag or vomit. She made a high-pitched noise, that he was sure if he was closer would have hurt his ears. The tip of his tongue curled against the fold. “Oh yes, right there.”

She shifted her hips down enough that he could breath through his nose, though she was nearly sitting on his chest, making his arms press into his back and floor. He made another noise of pain. She trembled, grabbing his hair, forcing his head closer, despite every protest in the way his body was bending. The taste got stronger and he realized just what she was having him do and he managed to keep that gag inside.

The skin shifted slightly, opening more and allowing the tip of his tongue to press inside her nook. She moaned, her legs gripping on to the sides of his head. He fought all the urges in him to vomit, to do anything other than what she wanted. The sooner he did that the faster it would be over. Then he could regroup in less pain. Her hips rocked against his face, pressing into his jaw, compressing his strangely empty mouth, making nerves light up and burn.

“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” Her voice was dripping with lust and he tried to make her thighs tense around his ears so he didn’t have to hear it. Instead he just made her grip his hair tighter, moaning again. “More,” she moaned disgustingly above him. “I know you have a longer tongue than that.”

He pushed his tongue out of his mouth, inching inside her. Trying not to scream as her legs pressed into his jaw. Her hips then picked up their pace almost immediately. “Keep your tongue all the way out.” Each word punctuated by a near moan. Tears slid down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if they were from pain or violation, but he focused on how warm they felt compared to her. He thanked whatever god or spirits might be watching over him that his arms hurt, because he focused on that pain; it was removed from the assault on his mouth.

Her fingers were coiled roughly in his hair, holding his head against her. Circling her hips, sliding his tongue wherever she wanted it, at this point all he was doing was sticking out his tongue and letting her take control of his movements. Pressure around his horn told him her bulge found a place to curl and he gagged. He decided that all of him was a masturbation device. Her thighs tightened around his face again and he screamed. She shoved herself down, muffling the noise, but enlivening pain. He couldn’t stop holding out the noise, until she shifted again, effectively silencing him against her body.

He focused on everything else, the pain, the faint pleasure in his stomach, which he knew was not a conscious pleasure. It was a primal thing. He was in too much pain to want any part in this. Not letting his tongue stop from moving, he didn’t want to be forced in this position. More pain meant this would last longer, no doubt she’d stop if he passed out. His throat felt swollen, his mouth aching like nothing he felt before. The terrible taste and the fact he had to keep swallowing it down. He focused on the way his left shoulder was grinding against itself. It was a sick noise, but it was better than the sloppy wet sounds of his tongue sliding in and out of her.

One of her hands removed from his hair. She pulled herself up for long enough that he could breathe. Her nails trailed along the bottom of his chin, and when she pushed back down he understood what she was doing. His tongue pressed deeper inside her, the jewelry in his mouth pressing into her body. Her thighs split wider on either side of his head. He made a strangled noise as her weight rested mostly on the injured part of his face. His nose pressed against the underside of her bulge, which made it tense around his horn. He hoped the pressure wouldn’t be enough to crack it, because he didn’t know if he could handle any more pain on his head.

His tongue was inside her and he tried to move it around, hoping that would help end this faster. She was making all sorts of loud noises and talking to him, but he was trying to ignore it. He was going to just get this done with, and hopefully one day his jaw would stop throbbing. She was still thrusting against his face, though now it was less smoothly, her thighs tensing and relaxing sporadically. Which was what the inside of her nook was doing, yanking on the jewelery in his tongue and feeling like it was about to tear out.

“Keep your tongue all the way out.” Her voice was wanton but firm and he pressed it out as far as he could. If he had teeth he could have held it, but he didn’t, so if it slid she’d have to deal. One of her hands was on the floor, bracing herself, claws yanking at his hair as she began to move, sliding his tongue in and out of her, bashing into his jaw with every down stroke. He was trembling with tears and pain. His arms twisted futilely in their shackles. His legs kicked and he wanted to scream again. He couldn’t, it would make his tongue slip and his muscles were too sore to hold it out without help.

She was chanting a myriad of curse words, moaning his name, and asking him questions he would never answer, her body using his mouth to the point he swore every wound from the filing reopened and his tongue was going to be torn in half. Her legs were shaking, the top part of her thighs pressing just under his temples. Her hips slammed down against his face and his vision went white. She held out her moan, grinding against his face. Then the edges of his vision faded into black. Slowly enough that he could feel the icy cold of her genetic material against his scalp and running down his throat.


	25. Chapter 25

He was cold when he woke up once again in another room. His jaw throbbed dully, a painful reminder of before he passed out. His tongue swiped over his teeth just to be sure that wasn’t just a horrible dream, finding nothing but tiny ridges of smooth teeth. That told him no, it wasn’t a dream. He shifted and realized his arms were free. He moved them slowly, his left shoulder nearly refusing to budge without sending spikes of pain though him. He liked the dull pain better so he left it where it was. He swallowed roughly, his tongue heavy, dry, and swollen.

He should get up, he should make sure that someone wasn’t casually watching him. That thought made his heart leap and motivated him enough to open his eyes, or try to. One of them was nearly sealed shut. He wondered if the smack he got earlier gave him a black eye. He lifted his only working arm and touched his eye. He was slightly pleased it wasn’t swollen, then disgusted by what was there. He pulled his hand away and opened his available eye.

He wasn’t in the closet. He actually wasn’t anywhere he recognized. The room was fairly dark, filthy, and it smelled like standing water and sickness. He got a better look at the room, half wishing for saliva or water to clear the magenta mark covering his eye. He had neither and the thought of prying his eyelashes apart sounded horrible. He sucked on his tongue, looking around the room the best he could. He sucked hard enough on it that he gagged, but he had some saliva. He gathered it up on his fingers and scrubbed off the dry fluid snared in his lashes.

He winced when he opened it, having to blink repeatedly to get the little flakes out of his eye. Having both eyes, he took in the room. It was dirty, and he was lying on something that once qualified as a cushion, sweeps and sweeps ago. It wasn’t much more than a blanket, though it had more give. It was as grimy as the rest of the room, blood nearly drowned out by the amount of purple and Tyrian pink that covered the mat. He tried not to think about just what that meant.

Kicked towards the bottom was a moldy piece of cloth that smelled as good as it looked, but he was freezing. He didn’t get cold often, which would mean that this room was kept bitter cold. He dispelled any pride he might have had and wrapped it around his shoulders. The room was a rectangle, and turning around showed him that bars separated him from the same room he had been used in before. Had those lights been off his cell would have been pitch.

Across from him there was a tray, which was the source of a drip-drip-dripping. That would surely drive him crazy after a while, but at least it solved the mystery of the smell of stale water. He pulled himself away from the only comfort object in the room, and realized the ceiling was slanted. He had to crawl to get over by the tray. He was desperate enough for water that he didn’t really care how long it had been there.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he cupped his hand and gathered a handful and quickly brought it to his mouth. It tasted warm, moldy, and generally horrible. But it was preferable to the desert he had been creating in his mouth before. He just wouldn’t drink more than one handful. He held his hand under the drip, gathering it slowly, hopefully it was a bit fresher. He looked down at the tray; apparently it had been bolted down. He brought the small amount of water he collected to his mouth. Beside the tray was a grate; it was shallow with slopping sides, that led to a pipe his hand couldn’t consider getting through.

That was the entirety of the room. He sighed and leaned back against the wall. Now what? He was sure his fingers were filthy, but he lifted his hand and ran it over his gums. His hand tasted about as good as the water did, but he wanted to see how his mouth was doing. He wanted to cry again but it wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t even make him feel better. This was life now, this was it. Right here. This room, this pain, this terrible situation. This was now his life.

He looked around the room again hoping that somehow things would change. Nothing did, still only four objects in the room. Five, he thought bitterly. Leaning his temple against his knees, he watched the water drip from a small crack in the wall. It actually wasn’t that small; it spanned over the tray but only in one place did it drip. He paused on it; after a moment, he realized that wasn’t a crack, that was a letter. He lifted his head up and looked over to the bars, as if in that moment one of them would be watching.

He scooted over once he reaffirmed he was alone. He ran his fingers over it, wiping grime from the wall, and managing to uncover it. D. He slid his fingers along next to it. It was too dark in the room to read, but he could feel the bumps of the faded letters. Don… Don’t… _Don’t what?_ he thought to himself. Dr… the next letter was nearly too faded to read. Dr, nk. Don’t drink? _Well, it’s a little late for that, mysterious wall writing,_ he thought. His claws re-traced over the I, just for the next troll who ended up here. Maybe they’d get the message before he did. He slid his hand along the wall around it.

There were letters all over the place, some barely there, others more definite. He pulled his hand away from the wall; he could tell his fingers were nearly black from the filth that had accumulated on the walls. He scooted over to the cushion, where there was more light, and looked at the moldy blanket on his shoulders. There were gray streaks, a lot of them; this was intended to keep the trolls they held warmish, but their captives used it to clean the walls. He could do that, but first he needed to get his arm in working order.

He lifted his good arm and felt around; it was sticking out awkwardly at the top and he knew exactly what he needed to do. It would just hurt a lot, and be difficult to do by himself. The last time he had gotten an injury that bad, he’d had to fight against some seadweller who nearly killed him in his hive right before dawn. He was younger then, and he remembered it hurting. Ultimately his lusus came back a week later to find Gamzee’s arm unusable and swollen. The old goat had grabbed his wrist in his mouth and pulled. Not hard, just slow, and then up. He could do that himself.

He slid over to the bars; the room there was tall enough he could stand, with a little gap above the door. He wondered how far the writing extended. Close enough he could lean on the bars. He looked at the moldy blanket, and bit the bullet and jammed part of it in his mouth. He didn’t want to alert them that he was awake. He reached across, grabbed his arm and slowly lifted it. He didn’t scream, just let out a dull hum from behind his lips and the gag. He placed it on one of the cross beams, breathing roughly around his makeshift gag.

He convinced his fingers to close around one of bars. He turned, facing the bars, and leaned back. His other hand rested just under his underarm and he leaned back. Eyes screwed up in pain as he pulled his body away and sunk to the floor. His shoulder cracked, his head went fuzzy, and he could move it again. It didn’t hurt as much, but he hoped he never had to do that again. He pulled the cloth from his mouth and panted, dropping to the floor, getting his head to work properly again. Once that was taken care of he could wet the cloth in his hands and scrub the walls, looking for words. Words meant he wasn’t alone, and maybe there would be more advice beyond the whole “don’t drink”. Every troll that scrawled a letter in here was part of the fucked-up rainbow on the floor outside. Still, it consoled him to know he wasn’t the only one, and any advice would be nice. Another dry swallow later, he got up off the floor and crawled back over to the tray.

He’d only wet part of the blanket. That way if for some reason it was thrown on him later he only had to avoid a corner. He dipped it into the non-drinkable water and scrubbed around the message. Each letter written by claws digging into the stone. Repeatedly. Just like he had re-etched the I. Laneen, a name, one of his fellow captives had a name. A symbol was carved next to it, two circles with some lines coming off the end. He wracked his brain trying to place where she would have been on the hemospectrum. A yellow blood. Every time he saw yellow blood he could guess it was Laneen, until he had more names.

Under it was a small tally, 10 lines evenly spaced. She lasted 10 days, or on the 10th day she was no longer able to etch her count in. He touched the carving softly, offering comfort to a long dead troll. Someone that once needed it just as bad as he did right now. He traced her letters with his fingers. He wondered what year she came in here, how long dead she was. His mind flashed back to the only yellow blood he had ever physically seen. His friend was a boy and unless naming had changed Laneen was a girl. The only other reference was one of the skeletal bleeding specters from his dreams. He let himself chuckle darkly; in the end they were all skeletons in this ship.

He bid her peace on her journeys in the afterlife, and smirked a little to himself. He touched her name again, a hand on either side. If she had been a sacrifice, even if a private one, she had a place at the Carnival. A happy place. Sacrifices always did, as long as a subjugglator did the rites. He said the final prose for her, spite driving him to have her achieve a happier place in death than his ancestor. Maybe that would be how he amused himself, he’d do the rites for every name he found. It would help to pass the time.

Laneen, his first saved soul. He would snatch her up from hive mind nightmares, he’d put her in a paradise where she could eat to full, ride every single ride on priority, and be honored among all of those that practiced. Sacrifices were treasures of the spirits, after all. Which was why most subjugglators didn’t do the rites, unless another one offered themselves to the spirits. They didn’t want to be clogging up death with a bunch of revered lowbloods.

He picked up the cloth again and continued to clean the wall. Below the advice was a name, the same handwriting, a blue blood name Aniuos, he lasted 22 days. He didn’t offer any more advice, but Gamzee would take the “don’t drink” to mind. More names uncovered from the filth; some terribly faded and he couldn’t read them. He guessed as close as he could and hoped that even without their names he could find their souls and free them from the bondage of purgatory. It wasn’t nice to make spirits endlessly wander the crossroads.

He had most of the wall behind the tray scrubbed by the time he heard the door open. He nearly dropped the cloth into the tray, but managed to recover it in the last moment. He tossed it over him and slid by the grate. He tried to look like he was hiding, and hopefully this time he would succeed. He really just wanted to scrub the walls clean, and get to know the names of all the trolls that had been locked in here before. He knew eleven of them for sure, and another dozen he had to guess on. He had, in his mind, met 23 other trolls who had gone through what he was going through. Sure, all of their tallies ended eventually, but he at least knew at some point it would end.

So far he was officially at, what, four days? Yesterday the Condesce, then the whole sopor incident, and then his ancestor the day before. Tonight was the dusk of day four. (If he survived tonight he’d have lasted longer than one of the other trolls, a green blood named Tilorn whose final day etch was bloody enough to leave a trace.) He’d find himself his own piece of the wall and carve his name in and his count. But not his sigil. They’d either think it was a trick or they’d despise him as much as they would his ancestor. He knew another sign for his caste, maybe he’d rebrand himself.

“Gammy, you awake?” He pushed back into the corner. “It sounded like rats in here, so either you’re up and making noise or this ship is infested.” She peered into the cage. “Good evening, sweetie!” He pulled the blanket around him, he didn’t want to look at her. It brought back very vivid images of what she looked like under the suit. “Well, that’s no way to say hello, you do know how to say hello, right, sweetie?”

“Eeming.” The first word he spoke without teeth came out awkward and surprised him. He buried his head in the cloth. He couldn’t even talk now, that thought depressed him further. He glanced at the few names on the wall he could see. Maybe they all felt this way once. Obviously, that was part of “fixing them up”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, sweetie, that wasn’t too bad for your first time. I just wish I wasn’t the only one around to hear it. Your first words and I got to hear them.” She had a small laugh in her voice. “You cold?” He looked at her, he wondered how good her night vision was, if he could get away with rolling his eyes. It was freezing in there, and he was in too much pain to deal with being cold. He shook his head, that would have to suffice. “Don’t lie, darling. My love told me you had a problem with lying. But I won’t tell him you did, our little secret. Come here.”

He rolled his eyes and crawled out of the corner, depositing the cloth on the mat. He couldn’t hide in that cage forever. She unlocked the door as he approached, holding it open for him. He slid up to his feet and, in spite of sore muscles, walked. He wouldn’t come out crawling until he had no other choice. She smiled at him and patted him lightly on the top of his head.

“Let me see how your mouth is doing.” He wanted to roll his eyes again, wondering what her obsession was with his mouth. He opened it, regardless of the thought. “I notice you relocated your shoulder. I’m surprised we didn’t hear you scream.” Her claw pushed up his lip and took a look at his teeth. “Not too bad, you didn’t make them bleed. And your tongue isn’t too swollen either. I just remembered why I liked highblood pets so much more.” She paused and looked embarrassed, though it was too over the top to be true. “Just don’t tell my Helmsman that, sweetie.” Her finger tapped his nose. She looked over his mouth a little more, before pulling her fingers away and smiling at him.

He stood there nervously, taking stock of a few of the splatters of blood, He assigned names to the colors, and somehow he felt less alone now. Sure, they were definitely dead, but they would understand this more than anyone else ever would. On top of that, his other friends hadn’t even tried to contact him, and obviously they had been in contact with Eridan or Equius. Probably Equius, with Nepeta being his moirail and all. Then he told his ancestor because… Highblood. The Condesce beckoned him to follow and he did.

No one but an army of skeletons waiting to greet him when he died. They probably wouldn’t turn him down. He released them from the crossroads, his ancestor’s sacrifices he took responsibility for. His elder wouldn’t be able to use them to manipulate anyone after death. He’d be a good boy and do his own rites when he was near death. Cheat any motherfucker out of trying to use him when he should be reveling, honored above all.

She led him out of the room, down the hallway, and back to the common area. Either his ancestor wasn’t awake, or he was working. Which left Gamzee alone with her. He still had that want for it to go back to his ancestor and him alone. He understood that better than this, and that wasn’t saying much. She waved her hand at him and when he walked close enough to be grabbed she did just that.

She sat on one of the chairs, pulling him to her lap. He really didn’t know her game and he could feel his body tighten, ready to snap at the slightest indication that he should be worried. More worried than he already was. She licked her thumb and rubbed just above his eye. He tried to move his head away, but knew she’d just make him stay.

“You know, Gammy,” she said and he forced himself to look at her. “Other than letting yourself have one stupid moment, you were really good last night.” He looked away, that really wasn’t what he wanted to hear. It really didn’t matter to him how good he was. It didn’t matter anyway. Her claws slid down his back, too soft and he leaned forward worried that a scratch would be next. “Don’t be upset, it’s a vewry, vewry good fing you’re doing so well. When you are good, it makes both of us happy. Don’t you want us to be happy?”

“Yesh.” That came out a bit better, even if it was the first real lie of the evening.

“So you know what to do then, right?” He nodded. That had been the plainest part of all of this. “What would make both myself and him very proud of you.” He looked at her, exasperated. Despite his mouth hurting less, it still hurt and talking wasn’t going to improve it. If they’d give him something cold to put against it, and give him a few days to recuperate, he wouldn’t be so close to angry. The pain was making him stupid. But just like biting and insulting, he was sure spitting at his elder hadn’t improved his situation. Neither would any angry action at the Empress.

He sighed. “Bay-wick-we…” He hated talking. “Do what you both want.” It was less garbled, but still talking without teeth was hard. It sounded like he had stones in his mouth, without the fun of actually choking on them at some point.

“There is more to it than that, honey,” Condesce was apparently back to playing lusus. “See, wigu, we want you to do what we say. But those are just manners.” Her fingers trailed down to his lower back, making him shudder. “I’ll even give you a trick, as long as you don’t tell.”

“I won’t.”

“First, you can keep fighting. It keeps him happy most days, but know there are consequences. I’ll make sure he’s not too rough on you.” Obviously, she was serious yesterday about trying to get him to be his ancestor’s bond. “You get used to pain eventually, right?” That actually had sounded like a question, which did nothing to comfort him. He probably wouldn’t ever get used to the pain. It would just relocate to a different place on him. “Then yo– Good evening, love.”

“Good evening, doll, I see the little shit is finally awake.”

“Don’t be so harsh on him, he’s our wriggler.” She held Gamzee close, and it took him a moment for him to realize she was trying to hug him. He just closed his eyes, counted up to ten, and tried to ignore the insinuation that he was result of their pailing eons ago. Even if he was, he didn’t want to think about it. “Poor thing is doing the best he can.”

“I doubt it,” his elder sighed. “He could always do better.”

“Don’t set such high expectations.” Gamzee could feel his ancestor was close, and the Condesce still stroking his back. “Set them high, yes, but don’t make him have to run before he can walk.” He wasn’t going to try to decipher their games. He was done playing, now he was just doing. He opened his eyes and looked down at his lap like it was the most fascinating thing he ever saw.

“He should already be able to do both, doll.” His elder leaned down and gave Condesce a peck on the cheek. “Do you want me to take him so you can eat?”

“You’re so sweet and thoughtful.” An arm wrapped around Gamzee’s back, and he was hoisted up. He tried his best to not look at anything. Just go through the motions like he was playing. He was then in his elder’s possession, and he wondered if he regretted the thought that his ancestor alone would be better. His ancestor moved and sat down, and Gamzee was once again on a lap, though here he felt abnormally small. His ancestor’s fingers trailed up his neck and before he could even touch his chin Gamzee lifted his head up and looked him in the eye.

“I just realized he’s probably hungry, he hasn’t eaten in two days.”

“Love, how is he supposed to eat? He doesn’t have any teeth.” Gamzee found himself agreeing with Condesce. He couldn’t eat without teeth unless it was some type of soup. Anyway, he wasn’t all that hungry. Well, he was sure he was hungry, but it was one of the least of his worries.

“We could always help him out.”

His stomach tensed, and he tried not to react beyond that. He was even less fine with the idea of food now. That was completely unnecessary, and the thought of food was now revolting.

Both of them began to eat. Gamzee had to ignore the way his stomach tightened in want. He tried a mantra of “food is bad”, but when had mantras gotten him anywhere? He was hungry; he didn’t know how, but he was. He swallowed dryly, knowing that even if it was offered, he couldn’t chew and swallowing would be impossible.

His ancestor’s hand trailed along Gamzee’s jaw, sending a shiver of pain up to his temples. At least it wasn’t a stabbing one. A finger slid along his lips and even if he tensed his jaw he couldn’t have stopped it from pressing past them, sliding over his sandpaper-like tongue. Another one joined it soon after, pressing viciously into his shredded gums and teeth. He whined somewhere in his throat, the sound grating against his chirp-box. Another press and he opened his mouth. His elder’s third finger and thumb pressed into his jaw, making him keep his mouth open.

His ancestor shifted, catching his sight. He leaned forward and just when their lips were almost pressed together, whatever he was eating found its way into Gamzee’s mouth. What happened next was fast, too fast for him to understand. The water tasted as bad coming up as it did going down, the food in his mouth mixing in with it and bile, making a disgusting concoction. He couldn’t get any farther than his taste-buds. His elder’s hand pressed against Gamzee’s mouth, covering his nose. He looked up at his ancestor, trying to beg that his hand would be moved.

“Swallow it.”

Gamzee forced his throat to work, to swallow down the acidic combination. He couldn’t stop his reflexes, gagging at every turn as he tried to force it down to his stomach, where hopefully it would settle. Once his elder was sure it wasn’t going to come back up he moved his hand, and air flooded Gamzee’s lungs. He focused on breathing and not what had just happened. How the air was shaking in his lungs for a moment before he’d exhale. He dropped his chin, forcing his head away from his elder’s grip.

“You have a choice, little clown.” He hated having choices. He was smart enough to pick up that meant either option was shitty, he just got to choose the less shitty one. Which turned out to be just as shitty in the end. Because, really, why would they give him any other choice? “I can feed you one of two ways.” His elder’s voice was almost a whisper, but he knew Condesce could hear it. “Either I can put you on the floor, and give you a protein rich meal from both myself and Condesce.” He had already had that meal from both of them, and he really didn’t feel like repeating it. “Or you can let me help, seeing as you have a lack of teeth.” His elder’s tone insinuated Gamzee up and lost his teeth somewhere, through his own forgetfulness. The words hit him and he took it back, he took everything back, he’d kneel. That he could handle. It was disgusting, demeaning, and terrible, but it was better than having to swallow prechewed food.

A little voice in the back of his head begged differently. It told him that if he knelt, he wouldn’t be getting up at any point that day; he’d spend the day following them on all fours, his face, neck, horns, and maybe his hands would be called on throughout the day for whatever, whenever. He didn’t like that option and he wondered if that voice was one of the skeletons. One of them telling him to escape, while they fought their bodies’ urges to pull him back to his elder. At least the hivemind nightmares from weeks, eons, minutes, sweeps ago were starting to make sense.

“Please.” His voice was rough, scratching his throat, and barely above a whisper. “I’ll choose.” His slurred words made more sense now, though his voice wanting to get higher on occasion made his throat hurt worse. “But I can’t swallow.”

“Why, darling? Are you allergic to your own teeth?” The Empress sounded like she was about to laugh, though she didn’t.

He shook his head. “My mouth is too dry, it hurts. I’ll choose, just please give me something to drink.” There was a pause, full and intent to swallow him whole. Maybe if that pause kept growing he’d be done with this. Even if he had to do one of them, at least he’d get a drink. Hopefully of something that was okay, not warned against.

His elder sighed, leaning back against his chair, disrupting Gamzee’s center of balance and making him wobble on his ancestor’s lap. He closed his eyes and attempted swallowing again, though the traces of acid were making his throat feel like it was swelling shut all over again. He prayed that his ancestor would be kind enough to give him water. It really wasn’t kindness, so he could do it. It wouldn’t ruin that perfect mask of a monster he created. Just give his pet water, even slaves need to drink if you want to keep them alive long enough to fuck. Beasts needed water until slaughter. He prayed he’d be economical, that was better than praying for his kindness.

“Fine, you can have a drink.” Gamzee tried not to smile when his prayers were answered. This really wasn’t the time or the place to praise any gods or spirits. Not after their want for him to go through this seemed so apparent. He’d have to think about that in-depth later.

His elder reached forward, jostling him again, and Gamzee almost had to grip the cloth of his shirt to not fall off his lap. The cup was grabbed and held just out of his reach. “But for this you do both. We should make sure you have enough energy to keep up anyway.” Gamzee sighed, but nodded. He hoped the sigh was soft enough he wouldn’t be punished for even reflexively disagreeing with something that would hurt.

His elder didn’t push him to speak, he accepted the nod and handed Gamzee the glass. He didn’t think as his body reacted and he shoved the brim against his lip, drinking quickly, afraid it would be taken away. Water ran down his throat, sloshing into his mostly-empty stomach. It slid down his lips, covering his chin. It was cold on his skin, but welcomed. He drank fast, fast enough he didn’t have time to breathe. It was liquid relief, beautiful, wonderful, and his elder pulled it from him before he got his fill.

“You’ve made yourself a mess.”

“Sorry.” His voice was stronger but still cracking. “Thirsty.” Henceforth, he was going to speak in one word sentences; they were a lot nicer and easier to manage.

“I can tell, but you’re not supposed to wear it.” His elder set the cup down, and Gamzee realized Condesce was giggling behind them. His elder shifted him and, his balance horribly disrupted, he found himself trapped in his elder’s grip and pulled up to almost standing after a moment. He realized he was breathing faster than normal. He knew what he agreed to, and being this close meant one thing and one thing alone.

It sucked, but he had to do it. He wanted to release all those other trolls from his ancestor’s hold. He wanted to find a way to release himself. He wasn’t going to give up, not yet anyway. No matter how easy that would be. He wondered how he was going to have to do this, and he fought the inner knowledge of how he was pretty sure it was going to happen.

His elder raised an eyebrow. Gamzee nodded to himself, hoping it would be all the pep-action he needed to make him close the gap between them. He realized three things in conjunction, and all of them came to him quickly. One: He never kissed anyone before, and this was the first time he ever had. Two: This was disgusting. Three: He had been tricked. Tricked into opening his mouth and letting another tongue explore him. He was forced to see if he could pull anything into his mouth that could have quantified as food.

Instead, all his firsts were going to be stolen from him, and added as his elder’s own tally marks on his walls. Gamzee tried to pull away, a whimper passing though his defenses. His ancestor just held him tighter, closer. Forcing him to deal with the tongue in his mouth. Probing into the scabs of his teeth, sliding along his own tongue, and forcing him to react. Gamzee nailed his eyelids together and threw away the hammer, hoping to never have to deal with this ever again in his life. He could feel every muscle in his face twitching trying to find a way away from the kiss. If he had teeth he would have bitten through his own tongue to rid himself of it.

Hands were stroking along his back, like this could somehow be something other than wrong. A joke of romance, and he was the punchline. He wanted to laugh at his own bitter joke, but thought better than to actually do it. He let himself just get it over with, and get to the other disgusting part. He was pulled away after too much time. Saliva clung to his lips, still connecting him to his ancestor. He licked his lower lip to break the strings apart so he didn’t have to deal with them.

His ancestor had a smile on his lips. If he didn’t know what kind of asshole his ancestor was, he would have been calmed by it. It meant he did good, but it didn’t mean anything anymore. It just meant Gamzee was pleasing a motherfucker he hated. In the most platonic way possible.

“Get on the floor, it’s time for your breakfast.” He had a feeling this would become his only source of sustenance. That thought made his skin crawl. The fact he had any energy would relate to them. He tried to ignore the bugs sliding between muscles and skin as he climbed down to the floor and unlatched clothing.

He had two trolls to take care of now, and he couldn’t let fear distract him, or his jaw was going to seize up, snap closed, and get stuck that way. Knowing them they’d just rip it open and carry on. It took all of a minute to be faced with the daunting task of getting his ancestor off. The tell-tale clack of heels told him they liked watching each other get off.

This time he had a better idea of what he was doing. This time he didn’t fumble and managed to keep his hands from trembling. He also knew better than to let his ancestor’s bulge travel close to his throat, because that would still be the most embarrassing death he could think of. Aside from maybe suffocating under the Empress, as he almost did the night before.

His jaw shuddered in overwork, and he realized all the cuts he had on his lips as genetic fluid painted them. Although he lacked teeth, Condesce had been right, there was no way in any world he could have forced more than the tip of his elder’s bulge into his mouth. He realized he was getting used to the taste and that thought made the bugs skitter into the dark corners of his body. Fingers curled in his hair and yanked him up high enough he was forced to take the only bit he could into his mouth. He gagged; that just made it squirm in his hands.

He focused on the task, trying to complete it and get to the Empress. Maybe when all this was over and done with he could go back to his cage, and be around something friendly. Even if they were dead, their names meant he was not alone here and never was. His ears shut out the noise of his ancestor moaning from the touch, the way his mouth and hands seemed to work the flesh though he still had no real idea what he was doing.

Instead, he was somewhere happier in his mind, among all of those before him. His old friends abandoned him, but his skeletal brothers and sisters never would. Bitterness drew him back for a moment, genetic fluid harsh in the back of his throat. He swallowed as best he could, his throat still raw despite the water. The fingers in his hair held him tight, keeping him right where he was wanted. Still a body to be used however they wanted, and that was going to be fine. Once they were done, he had somewhere to go.

His fingers worked over flesh like a musical instrument he never learned to play but still tried. His body was shaking and refusing to stop, but his elder didn’t seem to mind. He managed to catch a few words being mumbled at him. Better than the last time. They hit him in the place of his bloodpumper he reserved for words that would make him ache. His stomach rolled from the muscle spasms, fighting to just get him off.

His elder pulled him away, and he opened his eyes, trying to understand why. He swallowed, it was getting easier to do and he tried to not let that thought disturb him. His body was moved up, then closer, and once again he was pushed down to finish… eating. Maybe if he thought about it in terms like that it would make this bearable. He realized why he was shifted a moment after his mouth was back to working. His tongue sliding along parts he wasn’t thinking about moved most of his body, and in turn rubbed sensitive parts of himself against his elder’s leg.

He told himself if he reacted he’d shove something sharp up his nook and cut out his bulge. Then make his nook so damaged it would never work again. Still he slowed his movements to avoid anything like that from happening and was rewarded with the hand in his hair making him pick the pace back up. He thought about the most nonsexual things he could, but considering what was happening he didn’t know if he could think of anything more disturbing and his body didn’t seem to care.

The tip of the bulge forced its way back into his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat, and he gagged. He didn’t stop as his ancestor pressed forward, Gamzee’s jaw stretching as much as it could. He was forced to breathe roughly through his nose, his mouth unable to do anything other than service his elder. His body was shifted down against his legs, and he let out a strangled noise between a growl and a moan. He was pressed down, his head bending back as his ancestor tried to push down to his throat.

He could hear the nasty sound of flesh squirming against flesh, the terrible wet noises of his mouth working. He was going to be covered in purple again. It was strange how that thought jarred him. It forced him to once again deal with the way his hands were being compressed between sticky flesh. The taste was back in his mouth, strong and pungent, his breathing was strangled around the flesh. He didn’t want to cry, and he fought away the feelings. He wouldn’t let them win, he had to have one victory as his ancestor’s bulge pulled in and out of his mouth as a poor substitute for a nook.

He was dropped a little lower, his knees touching the floor once more. The hand in his hair tightened to the point of pain. Much like last night, he just held his mouth in one position and let himself be used. His stomach rolled painfully, and he fought the wince. His mouth had long ago gone numb, and over the taste of genetic material there was no way he could tell if he was bleeding. He’d just keep swallowing until it was pulled out of his mouth.

The smallest of shudders ripped through his ancestor and Gamzee braced himself. The hand in his hair tensed, cutting into his scalp with claws, and he focused on cold pain on the back of his head instead of the cold fluid being swallowed down. As fast as he had drunk the water earlier, he still couldn’t deal with that much fluid, and it bubbled out of the small cracks that kept his mouth from being totally closed off. It seemed as if it would never end and he could feel it biting at the top part of his mouth, trying to find other avenues to venture out of, making his nose burn.

After time slowed down to imperceptible, his elder pulled himself out of Gamzee’s mouth, slightly spent and still breathing faster than normal. Somewhere it comforted him to know his ancestor was still mortal and not above the basest of actions, such as being winded after he got off. He swallowed a final time, the base part of his nasal passages still burning.

“Once you’ve pleased Condie, you’ll have to clean up your mess.”

He nodded, a glare almost affixed itself on his ancestor’s expression. Actions were no longer good enough, it was once again time for words. “Yes, sir.”

“Good wriggler.” His elder’s hand removed itself from his hair. He fixed his posture and looked over at the Empress. She smiled at him. Sweet, royal, and evil. The last one wasn’t in her expression but he knew she was. He took a breath and crawled over to her. He half wanted her to sit; he didn’t want to be pressed onto the floor again with her above him. But if that’s what she wanted he had no choice but to give her that.

Her fingers looped in his hair, knuckles grazing the base of his horn; he tried to shift away and failed. Against the facts that he really didn’t like this, he wasn’t in enough pain to stop his beast reactions, and as she walked him over to a chair (who was answering his prayers?) her knuckles rubbed that part of his scalp with intent.

Her fingers uncoiled from his hair. He watched as her hand moved to unzip her clothes, and he fought the urge to smile once more; he didn’t want to have to undress her. His ancestor was painful enough, let alone her. The back of his throat was sore, he realized, as she slid it down only enough for him to get where he needed to please her. Once she had sat, completely exposed for him once more, she grabbed the same place, but this time on either side of his head. Her fingers rubbed against skin with nerves he didn’t want either of them near. She pulled him to her.

She wasn’t as aroused as she had been the previous night, his tongue had to work for it, sliding between folds. She propped her legs up on his shoulders, holding him close in two means as his tongue worked. He ignored her noises and words. They both had a habit of talking to him in voices full of lust, venom, and pain, and his hearducts couldn’t take any more abuse.

It wasn’t long before his tongue slid along the nub of her slowly uncoiling bulge and an even shorter timeframe that his head was pushed into rapidly separating folds. Her fingers rubbing along the base of his horns still sent warmth through him that he desperately tried to ignore and fight away. His body had been forced to be a traitor one too many times, and it was his body. He wanted to own it as much as he could, that included in not letting himself get aroused.

He thought of anything that would divert his mind away from sex. He thought about things that he couldn’t ever make into a fantasy, and ignored the taste and smell assaulting him once more. He wouldn’t be tricked again. He knew this wasn’t something he wanted, and that game wouldn’t be played with him anymore.

He forced his tongue against all the places he learned about last night, anything to end this faster. Anything he could do to get himself away. He shoved his tongue against the entrance to her nook. Her legs tensed, pulling him closer, she let out a squeak. Obviously his actions weren’t expected, but he had motivation now.

Her hips rocked against his face again. He knew she wanted him to force his tongue into her, and when the opportunity came to pass he’d do it. It sucked, but he’d do what he had to do. He could hear her cooing at him again, and he let another voice fill his head. Anything but them, somewhere far away. One day he guessed he’d be far away from here… when they were done with him. He found himself tempted to make it come sooner rather than later.

He thrust his tongue forward, pushing into her without her forcing him. She squealed, and it echoed in his ears over the music he’d taken to playing in his head. Her hips rocking faster against him. He was pretty sure he was the only one aware he was numb. Blissfully numb as she shoved his face against her. Her thighs were tight around his neck, but not enough to strangle him.

Her fingers pressed against his horn bases, her movements massaging him with every one of his tongue’s movements. She was moaning, panting, telling him things he’d never forget but right now chose to ignore. He’d let those words resurface in nightmares when he chose to sleep, at least then it would be a dream he could wake up from. Her bulge was sliding along him again. He lifted a hand around her leg and her hand quickly slapped his down. At least he knew it was a no-go-zone now.

His earlier intention was quickly forgotten as his tongue worked overtime for her forgiveness of his presumption. He could play games right back. Those would be games he’d play, ones he started. Her hips started their erratic thrusts towards him, his tongue being swallowed whole, sucked into a deep, repulsive part of her, compressing around the muscle, but soon she’d be done.

Her legs tensed, knees jerking him closer. He could feel the muscles spasming around the sides of his neck. He mentally chanted that soon he’d be done with her and then he could just clean up the mess he made, maybe they’d be done with him for the day and he could look over each and every name tonight. He could find new friends.

She nearly shrieked when she came. He hadn’t noticed it last night, but it sheared into his thoughts, high and obnoxious. He pulled his tongue out of her as soon as he felt her internal muscles clench to horribly painful. He opened his mouth, able to catch all of her fluids, as opposed to the others her bulge once again leaked all over his scalp and horn.

She held him for a long moment, still shaking from her orgasm, her legs spasming slightly around him. His mouth felt coated and terrible, though his stubs of teeth could be used to remove the film off of his tongue. At least they had something they were good for. Slowly, her legs pulled away from him.

Her mess was mostly contained, on his skin or in his mouth. A few drops here and there which he leaned forward and cleaned up, his tongue held firmly between his stubs. Without prompt he crawled away from her; he knew better than to let them order him around. He managed to move back over to his ancestor, silent, on a mission.

He pressed his cheek against his elder’s leg, like the animal he thought he was. He didn’t see this so much as torture now, instead this part was a play and he was acting. His elder shifted and he moved to clean up the mess he had a hand in making. He was still covered in purple, but if they didn’t say he couldn’t clean himself there was a tray of moldy water that would get most of it off.

He finished and sat back on his calves, waiting to be told what to do next. His mouth was dry once more from cleaning off cloth, but it was done. He hoped their order would be for him to go back to his cell. He was exhausted now, and he could take a nap then get back to cleaning.

His elder reached under the table and pulled him out. Gripping him by the back of the head once more, he pulled him up back at eye level. Gamzee managed to keep eye contact, though with everything his elder was projecting at him he was terrified. He could feel his lips twitching, fighting tears again. His elder smiled, violent and dark. Gamzee’s body was shaken as his elder stood, walking him back through the hallway, back into that room. His elder paused, pulling him back up to eye level.

“I was good,” Gamzee whimpered, and realized his words were just as choked by desperation as they were slurred.

His elder smiled. “You were.” It was said softly, matter-of-fact, but the edge that inched into the words wasn’t lost on Gamzee’s ears. Something horrible was coming. He just didn’t know what to brace for.

“Please.” The word was held out longer than necessary, comprised of every crack his voice could give.

“Who said I was going to hurt you?” he said. Gamzee whined, tears were gaining ground in this battle. “I just want to know what has gotten into you.”

“Nothing.” He tried to shift and just hurt his head more. “I’m just doing… What I said I’d do. Please.” His elder’s free hand slid between Gamzee’s legs and he tried to jerk away, the finger-pads stroking sensitive skin. He pulled himself up, bending his body back painfully to grab onto his ancestor’s wrist. “Please, no.” The words couldn’t be understood with sadness weighing in on his slurring. “Don’t.”

His elder didn’t try to shake off his grip or stop touching him. Gamzee’s body was getting warmer and he let himself sob, making noises that he had intended to be words. He shook and tried to fight the grip, ignore the touches, but he could feel pressure building. Fingers pressed against the folds of his nook and jostling them as they moved again. He waited to be slammed against something and have his body be used again. He registered a creak, his breathing hitching, his body betraying him by trying to indulge in the touches.

The next thing he understood was a crack that reverberated through his skull, flooding his mind with pain he had never felt. Otherworldly pain. Then he heard himself screaming on the filthy floor of his cell. The barred door slamming with a laugh behind him, he screamed himself quickly to hoarseness, his mouth bloody and silent. Then the convulsions from the pain, his body trembling, shaking, moving against the floor as if it could help ease it. His vision blacked out, whether his eyes were open or closed was up to debate. He raised a hand to his head, reaching to his horn, clutching onto the shattered tip. His stomach turned sour and he gagged, catching it in his mouth. He didn’t want to make any more mess than he already had. His body shut down slowly, and he let himself drift off to somewhere where pain was gone.


	26. Chapter 26

His cell was pitch black. He woke up with a start and a headache came crashing in a moment later. He pressed the heel of his hands to his temples. It was duller then when it happened but still it was aching. He felt filthy, purple and fuchsia stuck to his skin, along with the black filth that coated the cell. He lifted his hand and touched the jagged tip of his right horn, his fingers running across the ridges. It wasn’t broken too much, but it would still be risky; he could get an infection. Hopefully the core wasn’t exposed.

He crawled toward where he thought the mat was. If he could find that then he could find the cloth and water to clean himself off. It wouldn’t do much, but it might do something. He felt the mat and crawled a few more paces towards the dripping. He didn’t search for the cloth, not wanting to dirty it anymore. Instead he used his hands to scoop up cold water and splash it on his skin.  
  
It smelled terrible and didn’t help him feel much cleaner, but with the traces of genetic fluid gone and cleaner legs, he felt a little better. Though a lot colder, and he wondered if it was kept so cold in here to force their captives to stay filthy. Maybe they liked the look of jewel-toned genetic fluid on gray skin. Even if they did he was going to clean it off, he didn’t care if it made him sick.

Once his chest, legs, and face were rinsed off, though smelling distinctly of mold, he crawled back to the mat. With the lights out there was no easy way for him to clean the walls, and despite his night vision there wasn’t any light to get it started. He curled up on the mat, covering himself with the cloth. His mouth was dry, his throat shredded, and all he wanted was enough time to heal the slightest amount before they came back.

Something about this situation unnerved him; it was dark, they could be lurking, and on top of that what happened earlier made no sense. He had been good and he had done exactly what he was told. Yet he was thrown into the cell, hard enough or awkward enough to shatter the end of his horn. Now he was trapped in darkness, and he didn’t know how long he would be. He knew that the names were engraved and there was a chance he could read them, but his head ached, his body was sore. He wanted to sleep again but every time he closed his eyes all he could feel was his ancestor’s hands sliding along his legs. He knew it wasn’t real, that it was a phantom of a memory touching him, but it was enough he couldn’t convince himself it was worth it to sleep.

He just lay there, listening to the water drip; time slowed down and he really wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or days. He let his mind wander, back to his hive and the beach. He could picture them clearly after a while. He wondered if he could just make somewhere safe, somewhere he could go at times like these. He kept his locations the same, but imagined his lusus who’d come and take him far out to sea. He kept sailing, he could almost smell the salt in the air when the lights outside his cell turned on and pulled him back to reality. He didn’t move, waiting to hear footsteps, voices, or something. It took him what felt like five minutes to understand no one was coming. He got up slowly, watching outside the bars to make sure no one appeared. But he was sure he was alone.

He grabbed the cloth and moved to the water. He went to the part of the wall he hadn’t cleaned, ignoring the fresh stains just under where the ceiling started slanting. The events of this evening, yesterday, earlier… whatever time still didn’t make much sense. But, from what it looked like, when he was tossed back in he caught his horn on the slanting ceiling, and his elder threw him with enough force his horn hit and part of it shattered.

He ignored it and scrubbed at the wall, finding more names, more times, and another piece of advice. “Bargaining works.” There were a series of hooked lines beside it, which for all he could guess meant either the amount of times it had for other trolls, or the amount of times it hadn’t. Other then the general death that surrounded the room, the mood was pretty positive. He would assume, optimistically, that bargaining did work. It wasn’t scratched out, which he assumed it would be if it had stopped working at any point.

The advice was signed by what he was pretty sure was a maroonblood whose count was a few days shy of a week. Bargaining worked for him. Hopefully it would continue to work from then to now. He continued scrubbing, nervous as he inched closer and closer to the bars. If they were to walk in now, he’d have a hard time explaining just what he was doing.

More names, more counts, and so far the lowest was at two days and the highest at 30. He slid closer to the bars, something hard digging into his naked thigh. He shifted quickly, and looking at it realized it was part of his horn. Sharp, and moderately thin. He found another bit close beside it, this one thicker. The pieces couldn’t have been used to mend it, even if he had proper medical care.

He grabbed the bigger pieces and stashed them under his mat. He didn’t know if they’d come in handy or not, and better to have them then lose them. They were in grabbing distance, regardless of their horn sizes, in the cage before. At least under the mat the shards had relative safety and could possibly be used by him later.

He went back to cleaning, finishing up an entire wall before the lights went out. So concluded day five of his… whatever this was. Blindly he groped the ground for the– his mat. It was his right now and he’d take solace in the fact he had it. Thank it for protecting him from the cold ground. He lay down, sleep coming quickly. When he woke up the lights were already on. He glanced to the room, it was empty again. Nervousness fluttered in his stomach.

It was empty and he was thirsty. Terribly thirsty, mouth rotting in need of water. He moved over to the tray, leaning his head back, letting the water drip into his mouth. It struck him he could be forgotten there for a long time. How long could trolls go without food? A month? He honestly didn’t know, and that thought worried him. The water was bitter, metallic, but he was too thirsty to care. Each drip teased him, he just wanted to have something to drink. He moved his head and looked down at the water.

One drink didn’t hurt him, he could… No. Even if one time hadn’t hurt him it tasted deadly and this would end eventually. But he wasn’t going to go down because he was sick due to a lack of self-control. He moved his head back and opened his mouth letting water drip again. His face was still achy, but something was different, his mouth tasted more horrible than his new normal. He would have put his fingers in his mouth but that probably wouldn’t have helped if there was a problem.

He hoped it was just the fact he was dehydrated and had nothing to do with infection. He was already gambling with the gashes on his back, the broken horn, and all of the wounds in his mouth. Maybe when he was around them again, he’d behave and tell or ask them about it. If he stayed good, they might not want him to waste away from infection. On top of that, if there was an infection it made the prospect of using his mouth far more disgusting. Either they’d take care of it, or stop using it.

Once he couldn’t stand the dripping of the water anymore and he felt less like his skin was drying out, he gathered the moldy water on the now black corner of the cloth. The water turned a striking shade of gray as the grime from the room infected the water. He cleaned off the walls, and wondered where the black filth came from. It was sooty, greasy, and basically caked on. The rest of the room didn’t have it, just his cage. Then again, they didn’t have to deal with it, it might never have been cleaned. It could have been the build up of skin oils over the sweeps, it could have been from never cleaning the room since its construction, it could have been a lot of things. He didn’t want to extend his mind to all the morbid possibilities.

He had yet to find a truly clear part of the wall; it was covered in names, tallies, and sigils. A final testament that these trolls ever existed. He finished the other wall and went back to drink some water, when the lights went off. He was confused. Two days, two days and neither of them had shown up. Nervousness was blooming into fear, he tried to ignore it. He was getting time to heal. Maybe it was his reward for being good; he got to nervously wait for them to come back. He moved himself back to his mat, pulling it away from the wall.

Right beside where he lay, he raised a claw over the faded name of another fallen brother or sister. He had to scratch them out of existence to prove he was ever here. He wished them no hard feelings and carved his name. In the silence he could hear the scrape of his claw, dulling it terribly but proving he was there. He wondered about the next occupant of the cell. If they would see his name and mourn for him the way he mourned for everyone else his ancestor and the Empress hurt. Or if they’d see his name and skip over him. He knew, eventually, his name would fade, eventually no one would ever know he was there. That he was at all.

He hesitated after he finished the E, wondering if he should carve his symbol. He would decide that on another day. Assuming he made it another day. If not he was content to be known as Gamzee who, right now, had lasted six days… seven tomorrow.

He let darkness consume him and slept as well as could be expected on a cold floor. He woke when the lights turned on. They were automatic lights, he realized. The room was still empty, and that made fear grow. Slowly becoming a plant he couldn’t control, all he could do now was try to keep it pruned. He tried to recall his dreams, and found only beaches. Nothing more.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being toyed with again. He thought briefly about what benefit it would serve them. All of their motives were confusing or mysterious. But he had the feeling he was being watched. Not always while he was awake, but he’d wake up and feel like every inch of him was crawling with beetles, the kind that stuck around after someone fixed their lookspheres and kept them fixed. He didn’t know what would be interesting about him sleeping.

He cleaned off the back wall and floor. More names assaulted him, and these were more faded then the others. Still he did the rites. He found another piece of advice written on the ceiling above the tray. “All symbols mean something.” It wasn’t advice as much as a message. Below it a small line that wished him luck. The lights went out and he could feel fear crawl into him and make a hive. The next time he was going to see them he would regret it. There was no way that this absence was good for him. No matter how he looked at it, he was going to be hurt for their lack of time. It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense.

He curled up, and dreamed about that world by the sea where nothing would ever hurt again. When he woke up (or when the lights came on, he wasn’t sure if he had slept), he lay under the drip for what felt like an hour. His hands shook from dehydration, and all his muscles felt weak. His stomach was cramping in hunger, and he couldn’t ignore it. Beyond all that he couldn’t help a thought. A rogue, nasty thought. It just moved in, unwanted and ugly. He missed his ancestor.

No matter how terrified he was of what his elder would do to him, he had a desire to see him. It was deep, confusing, and put fuel on a fire he’d rather forget. Despite how disgusted he felt with the Empress, he had never felt it that strongly with his elder. That thought made his claws scrape into the metal of the tray. It had to mean something, and he really couldn’t say what. But he didn’t want to see the Empress. As far as his very unpatriotic thoughts were concerned she could trip and land on her trident. But for reasons unknown he wanted his elder and the thought made his stomach churn and sent a clammy shiver along his bones.

He picked up the cloth and move to the short wall above the door, wanting to avoid thinking over his terrible thought. He scrubbed the final surface, unsure what he’d do with himself once the cell was clean. But right now he was too busy trying to make sense of letters. He wasn’t even sure if they were letters. It was a collection of symbols, lines, and arrows that looped around like a maze. He recognized two. One was a slanted x, with a trail on the end, that meant stop. The other was a circle with with a line jutting from it. That meant go. Lines looped and some were crossed out. He set the cloth down on his mat, and looked over the confusing scrawl.

The familiar sound of metal sliding over itself made him jump back to his mat. Someone was in the room, and he seriously hoped it wasn’t her. He prayed, unsure if he could deal with her cooing and actions. It took a long moment for footsteps to echo around the room. Too heavy and those were boots. He let a faint smile linger on his lips before he realized he was smiling about his ancestor coming to abuse him.

He pushed back to the farthest wall from the door. He might have been happier it was his elder, but he still didn’t want him. Despite his earlier want to see him and in spite of the fact his stomach was attempting to do happy trapeze acts with the thought of seeing him now, he didn’t want to. His body was evil and the enemy. He could only assume this was because compared to the Empress his ancestor tried to kill him less, or perhaps because it was more outright.

“Good evening, little one.” The wall was raw against the scabs on his back.

“Eeming, shir,” he said softly.

“You want out?” Was this one of those choices? Or was this one of those things that sounded like a question but was actually an order? “You need to work on your trust issues,” his elder added with a slight laugh.

“What do you want me for?”

“Entertainment, what else are you good for?”

Gamzee told himself that didn’t hurt as much as it did. “You want me out?”

“Well, I doubt I would have asked you for shits and giggles. Your company in most circumstances leaves a lot to be desired.”

“What happens if I say no?”

“I would probably get you out one way or another.” His elder paused long enough to smirk. “Maybe I’ll smoke you out. Or I’ll pull you out later, when you’re not expecting it. Then I’ll break both your legs and make you crawl around after me until I have you where I want you. Your call.” Comparatively, those didn’t sound as bad as his other threats, but that was only how he’d get him out. Not what he would do to him after. Gamzee pulled away from the wall, his scabs nicking and send a fresh shiver of pain through him.

“I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay so well-behaved. Since your… What is the mammal word? Unfortunately, I never gave any care for their life-cycle or reproduction. So instead, your other bloodlink-” For some reason him saying that made it more real. “-has been busy, we’ve been neglecting you.”

“That’s okay.” Gamzee tried to sound like he was forgiving. By his elder’s sudden stiffening of posture, he was sure it didn’t come off that way. He inched towards the door, wary of what his ancestor might suddenly lash out and do.

“There is no reason for you to get an attitude with me now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“I need to retrain you to say ‘I didn’t think’, it would be much more honest.” His ancestor opened the barred door and Gamzee took the final steps closer. Close enough to be grabbed and forced the rest of the way out. Except it didn’t come; his elder let him take the steps out of his cage. It was more like a cell than a cage, but a cell made him a criminal, and no matter how true that was, he didn’t like to see himself as that. Once he stood far enough away from the door, his elder closed it and he heard locks snap into place.

“She is dealing with the council, and I wanted to make you an offer. But fun first.” His elder looked over him, and Gamzee realized how filthy he was. His elder’s hands found his hips and he was lifted up in the air. He was moved, then his body touched metal colder than his skin. He jumped in the grip at the temperature change. After a moment he adjusted and was forced to focus on hands that rubbed and petted at his hips.

“Split your legs, put them up on the table.” He paused, thinking over the order for just a second, before he moved back and put the arches of his feet against the side of the table. He realized only after he moved how exposed he was and hoped that there wouldn’t be sudden pain, because that would only mean one thing.

His elder ran the tips of his fingers over Gamzee’s inner thigh. Gamzee’s hands grasped the edge of the table, worried, but expecting to be pushed back; he didn’t know how his body would take to being fucked again. He closed his eyes, waiting for it, his elder’s fingers trailing lower. Then, before they moved along his seedflap, they detoured across his stomach and up to his chest. Gamzee opened an eye, suddenly really unsure with what was going to happen.

“You do as I say, and make me happy. We won’t have any problems.”

He didn’t know what else he’d do, as long as he kept his wits about himself, he’d just try to be good. Less pain was always better than more. He nodded and mumbled an affirmation. His elder’s smile could have killed; Gamzee’s wrist was grabbed and held in frightening hands, pulling his hand off the table and moving it down his stomach to his seedflap. His eyes widened, staring at the bigger troll; he could feel his mouth starting to form the word “no”. No noise came out, he just kept mouthing the word over and over. A small noise came out of his throat before, with all of its roughness, his voice worked.

“Please, don’t make me do this. I’ll give you anything but this. Please I can’t, I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can, unless you’d rather have someone else fuck you.”

“Please.”

“If that’s what you want. I’ll go find someone.”

“No, no please. Anything you want.”

“Do you really want to know what I want?” Not really, but he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t do that while his elder watched. Still he nodded, hopefully it would be better than this or his elder finding someone random who would use him. “Other than what I’ve already said to do, I would like to string you up and see about finding a new hole, or making one. Your call.”

“Please.”

“I’ve given you your options.”

“Why do you hate me? What have I done to deserve this?”

“You might not believe this but I don’t hate you. Platonically or otherwise. You’re just the most pathetic excuse for a troll I have the misfortune of calling my descendant. A terrible waste of potential and blood. I find you more to be depressingly disappointing. That is enough for you to deserve this. Don’t you think so?”

“Why do this though? Why not tell me so I could fix being it? If you stop this now, I’ll forgive you for it. Please, please, I won’t disappoint you if you let me try. Please, I won’t tell anyone. I won’t even let it be a thing. If you wanted, I would let you carry on to do whatever you wanted to me. Just let me try to not be disappointing you.”

“You are trying, and I won’t let you out until you’ve learned your place. Though it’s sweet of you to offer so outrightly.” His elder’s eyes trailed over Gamzee’s face, taking in shaking lips from tears clearing paths along his cheeks. Gamzee was sure that when his elder finished with him he would have permanent lines from where he cried.

“Please.”

“It’s still your call; let me watch you, someone else fucking you, or I can carve a new hole into you. You actually have quite a bit of choice, indulge in it.”

“I’m motherfucking ashamed of my blood. I would rather have been born a mutant than call you my bloodlink.” At that moment Gamzee lost his wits. His elder growled, deep in his throat. Enough for it to be beyond scary and become terrifying. Gamzee pushed back against the table, the claws at his side screeching against the metal. His elder grabbed him by the neck and yanked him forward, digging his claws into skin hard enough to draw blood.

“I wish you were a mutant too. Then at least you’d be good to paint with. As it stands, the only use I can see you for is a three-holed slut. Shall I make it four?”

He whined, his hand grasping his elder’, careful to keep his claws out of the equation. He wondered if an apology would even matter, as claws kept their grip, tracing stinging cuts to the front of his neck. He hoped he could make his face look like anything close to sorry, or something that would make his ancestor let him go. His elder either saw it or had another thought, because in the next second his wrist was held tightly by the larger troll. “You have two seconds to make your choice.”

His breathing ragged, he attempted to decide, though he already knew the best option. He opened his mouth to say he’d do it, when two seconds was up. His elder clamped down on Gamzee’s forearm, and he tried to wrench his arm away. The pressure just built and he could feel the bone creaking. He had time to say “st-” before the snap echoed around the room, followed quickly by an echoing scream that bounced off his ears and didn’t even sound like he made it.

“Now you will do as I say, and you have to use this hand to do it. Don’t make me hurt you any more.”

Gamzee wasn’t even ashamed of his tears as he tried to move his fingers. Violent spasms of pain shot through his arm, every time he got hurt he was always so surprised how much pain a troll could feel. His wrist was bent awkwardly, and he sobbed as he moved it down to his seedflap.

“Stop blubbering.” His elder pushed his hand against the skin. Gamzee whined, his hand, wrist, arm, everything on the left side aching. “You’re wearing away my patience.”

“Sorry, I…” He didn’t know what to apologize for. It wasn’t his fault he hurt so much, or that this was nearly impossible. With strain he stretched out his fingers and tried to push pain out of his head so he could even get any measure of aroused.

“Do you want to make me angry? Is that something you like?”

“No, it’s just hard. I can’t d–”

“I’ll be the one to tell you what you can and can’t do. Right now, it might be good for you to get yourself motivated, or I’ll have to take my frustrations out on yo-“

“If I asked you to be kind would it be too much?” He didn’t regret it right away, but soon after he did. His elder slapped him; luckily it was on the side where his horn was already broken, or the other would have surely broken when his head smacked against the table. His elder wrenched him back up by his hair.

“Have any other smart remarks?”

“Please.” His wrist spasmed. “Don’t… Stop, I’ll–”

“No,” his elder growled. “You have nothing to bargain with, nothing you can do to convince me to stop. As it sits the only troll who– No, the only being that would care if you died is in the next room. Only she and I care enough about you to care if you stopped breathing. You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”

Gamzee stared, not reacting, not speaking. The feeling of being truly alone consumed him. Bitter loneliness he hadn’t felt since his lusus left him the first time consumed him. He glanced over at the blood on the floor, he cared that each and every one of them never got the chance. To pity, to hate, to thrive, to truly live. He hoped their ghosts cared the same amount. At least then, maybe, just maybe, something else cared about him other than them.

“Gamzee.” His eyes met his elder’s. And the hit collided with his face, hard enough to knock him to the floor. He could feel his lip throbbing and a swipe of his tongue affirmed he was bleeding. He tried to shift his weight, but that was made nearly impossible with his wrist throbbing the way it was. His elder stooped and landed another blow. Gamzee could feel his ribs groan from the force, his earlier dislocated shoulder dragging along the concrete, his hip aching.

Before another hit was landed, he had a thought. One of his living friends must wonder where he was. Maybe they wouldn’t come and save him. But they had to wonder. Pain pushed out thoughts, another slap of flesh meeting with flesh. Another pain rocked him. After a moment, another blow against his stomach made him retch and the small amount of water he had in his stomach mixed with the blood on the floor. His elder pulled his head up so they could meet each other’s gaze.

“You ready to start listening?”

Gamzee wanted to say yes, but it just came out as a gurgle, words clicking in the back of his throat. A yelp echoed around the room as his ancestor’s claw dug into the split on his lip. Blood dripped down to the floor, lighting some manic glee in his elder’s eyes. He tugged on to the skin, opening the wound up beyond a cut. Now a gash that inched up toward his eye and down to his chin.

“Do you have words for me now?” He didn’t; not in some stupid defiance, just terrible inability. His elder held his head as he slapped Gamzee again. Gamzee realized at that moment he didn’t even know how long he had been sobbing. Sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “If you wanted to make me happy, you’d just do as I say.” Gamzee gurgled in response, hiccuping with tears, and words he couldn’t say. He lost count of hits that made skin-fall from his thighs up to his face. He sobbed, his whole body on fire from pain. No words could find their way out of his mouth, he couldn’t even lift his arms to defend himself.

His elder either tired himself out (unlikely), got bored (most likely), or knew Gamzee was about to pass out (yeah, right). He lay on the floor, still sobbing, but now between ragged breaths that sounded like they should have hurt. All of him hurt, so it was par for the course.

He realized in some logical part of him that he was too close to getting himself killed. Did he still want to live? He reeled over that question as he pulled himself off the floor to his hands and knees. He sniffled, his nose clogged with blood, lip dotting the floor purple, as he crawled toward his elder. His left wrist bent awkwardly under his weight. Every pull of muscles toward his goal came with a shaking sob, his tears slowly faded. Numb or just used to pain, he pulled himself the final stretch.His hands grasped on to his elder’s pants, pulling himself up to his knees. He looked up at him. Words weren’t available, but he hoped his expression explained what he wanted to say, which was the same thing he’d been saying this whole time.

He was sorry and he mentally added he’d do whatever now. He learned his lesson, he wouldn’t try to argue anymore. He’d be good, he’d stay that way. He wanted his freedom, he wanted out, but it wouldn’t happen. The best he could do was obey, apologize, and agree. He clutched onto the starchy fabric, pulling himself up as high as he could. He could see the bruise already dark on his wrist, the odd lump from where the bone was where it wasn’t before. Still he had his fingers curled in fabric, beyond anything but making sure this didn’t happen again or anymore.

“It’s funny that you think begging will stop me from hurting you.” His ancestor watched him, and Gamzee could feel that scrutiny. He leaned forward, his forehead against the fabric and leg of the taller troll. He silently pleaded in his head, his throat making noises, but none of them words. He could feel his body starting to rebel from him putting weight on anything. He ignored its cries, clutching tighter, pain making him woozy.

A ringing clatter on the floor by his left side and a thud on the right told him he was expected to pay attention. His elder pulled back from his grasp and hunched down. They still weren’t at eye level, but closer. Gamzee looked at the knife on his left, and to his right he saw a gray-brown bound book. His eyes moved to his ancestor’s quickly. Words from millennia ago rang in his ears.

“You have a choice.” His elder’s voice was calm. Measured. “These are your only two options. If you try anything else, I’ll keep you alive long enough to have you be the one to kill your hatchmates. Do you understand?”

Gamzee nodded and let his voice crackle in his throat, trying to make a word but failing. His elder apparently accepted that. The smile that could frighten the biggest and most proud of musclebeasts who roved the plains was back, and consummate evil seeped into his gaze. He shivered on the ground, knowing only one thing would come from this.

“Pick up the knife… No, in the other hand.” Gamzee’s wrist bent uselessly and his fingers couldn’t really hold on, but still he tried to lift it. It took longer than necessary, but he managed it. His elder kept his patience. It was held loosely, but still in his hand. “Open the book, you know what page.” With one hand it took just as long to flip through the pages and past all the multicolored paintings to find the one done entirely in his hue.

“Now, your options and my offer. I’ll keep your sniveling ass alive. You’ll be mine, and by extension Condie’s. I’ll keep you as my pet. But that’s conditional on you binding yourself to me. If you choose not to, you’ll be here as long as you last, and those rebellious friends of yours are next.”

If he was dead, he couldn’t protect them. He could just say no, and no one but him and his elder would know. Then again, his ancestor would probably tell them he could have saved them but he decided his pride was too much. Or he was too weak, pathetic, and useless to do anything other than sob when the offer was made. That his discomfort and the pain he’d be put in wasn’t worth saving them. The definition of shitty choices hit him square in the face. “If you agree, finish the binding. If not, drop the knife.”

Gamzee looked at the book, his blood marring the page. He knew now it was a Sul, even if he had never seen that particular one before. The Messiahs would know how he was bound, it would be blessed. Until the end of time he’d be bound. He looked at the knife, then up to his elder. He sniffled again, wiping his nose on the back on his unbroken arm. He tried to swallow and instead just made his throat ache.

“How?” he managed to say.

“Carve it on your arm, put it on the page, and paint over the Sul. Then it will be known.”

“No… What do I carve?” His voice got quieter and quieter the longer he spoke.

His elder smirked. “Namoha.”

He looked down at the knife one more time, tears doubling their effort to escape his shame. His stomach churning, he lifted his hand, his wrist shooting pain up to his shoulder. It didn’t matter, though. It was slow and it took him too long to line up the knife on his skin. He could see his elder’s smirk somehow increase in viciousness.

“For time and eternity, little clown. Even in death, you will be mine. Just so you understand what you are agreeing to.”

“I’ll join your skeletons,” he said softly, crackled and barely recognizable as words. Once this was done they couldn’t reject him, he’d be stuck to them. He heard a light chuckle from his elder, though he said nothing about the observation, if he had even really heard it.

Gamzee maneuvered his hand and, with as much force as he could muster, carved the first letter into his forearm. He bit his lip, the stubs not doing much but enough to hold in the gasps of pain as he carved. He didn’t know how a binding worked, but it kept him and his living friends alive. Maybe when he was good enough to get out he could read up on it, even if in secret, and perhaps figure out if there was any way to break it.

Blood coiled around his arm, dripped to his thighs and onto the floor. He carved and somehow, the fact he was creating the word brought comfort to him. His stomach stopped aching, the lump in his throat faded. When the final letter was carved, he dropped the knife to the ground. Pulling the book closer to his cut arm, he pressed the page against the wound, then pulled it away and dipped his fingers into the cut. He could feel himself getting lightheaded, and still he dragged the blood across the page.

His elder was smiling, and Gamzee felt a little sick and a lot tired. He stooped forward, his eyes heavy, his body humming with pain. He moved his fingers between cut and paper again. He managed to finish the line before he dropped the book. The Sul redrawn, his fate carved into his arm, and forever contained in a book. He wavered where he was kneeling, ready to collapse.

“You’ll have to learn to let them go, little clown. They’re more pathetic than you. But until then, I’ll keep each and every one of your filthy secrets.”

He made another noise. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. His head was swimming in white noise. He would have moved but all of him felt heavily weightless. He hardly registered being pulled into his elder’s arms, back on the table he started on. His head foggy, so he didn’t even question when his elder told him to open his mouth. He just did.

The next order was to swallow, and he realized the ghost trailing on his lips was his ancestor putting something in his mouth. With difficulty he tried to swallow. His elder gave him some water when he was sure there was no way he was going to be able to do so. He swallowed it down, along with whatever was in his mouth.

It didn’t take long but the horrible burning pain slowly lessened, until it vanished entirely, leaving him feeling both more alert and more exhausted than he had in days. He watched his elder pull on his broken wrist and set the bone. Other than a slight sting there was nothing he couldn’t handle, and his wrist was back in place. But it looked bruised, swollen, and horrible. It was wrapped up and it made it impossible to move. He realized quite suddenly that his ancestor was patching up his injury. The first one he ever had, wait, no there was one before. Wasn’t there?

“You’ve been punished enough - don’t repeat what you did today, and you should have no problems. But you did bind yourself with very little thought. That means you get a treat.”

He didn’t stay awake long enough for the treat; he fell asleep, relaxed in his ancestors arms, before they left room. When he woke it obviously hadn’t been that long. His body didn’t hurt as much, though he wasn’t as exhausted as he had been earlier. A weight on his neck confirmed he was tied. But where he was tied was suspect. He realized voices were fading in, slowly, and that must have been what woke him. He couldn’t make out the specifics of the words. He tried to focus to make sense of them.

“Don’t get me wrong, lovey, I’m happy you decided to keep him. Thrilled, actually; our wriggler to play with for however long. I mean I wanted you to, but you seemed so against it I was starting to look forward to eating him.”

“We can still kill him if you wish. There is nothing against it, he is mine to do with as I want.”

“No, no.” The Empress sounded slightly distracted. “I’m pretty sure he would be stringy and mealy. Not to mention he’d probably get us doped.”

“Not if you cook them long enough.” His elder offered, a slight laugh in his voice.

“With how much is in his system? I don’t like my food burnt.” The Empress brought that laugh into existence, though it was more like a giggle.

“The vast majority of that is not my fault.”

“I know, love. What made you decide to keep him? Did my list of pros and cons win you over?”

“No, actually, I had a pro you didn’t think of. I would like to have a body to sacrifice at any time, his is as good as any. Plus, the higher the blood the more powerful. Purple being the color of the Dye. It’s worth it to have him, plus he can take a beating.”

“I noticed. Forgive me, I always forget the specifics of your religion. I’ve never subscribed much to spirits who require so much coddling.” His ancestor growled and Gamzee fought the urge to do the same. He still didn’t know where he was, and it was obviously more public. He didn’t feel like alerting them he was awake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. They just seem needy to me. Forgive me, love.”

“You’re forgiven, but watch your tongue.” There was a shuffle, and Gamzee managed to open his eyes. They felt heavy, obviously sleep was still pressing hard against him. He realized there was furniture in the room, like some awkward meeting hall, and he was lying on the floor under a table, a hairsbreadth away from his ancestor’s feet. At least he understood where he was.

The weight on his neck lead to a chain, it attached neatly to the leg of the chair his elder was on. He was out of the room of torment at the very least, but not trusted enough to roam. He was still exhausted, though for the first time in a long time he wasn’t hurting. He wondered if what his ancestor gave him were pain killers. That would explain why when he set the bone it didn’t hurt.

Paper shuffled, and the Empress let out a theatrical sigh. Both of them talked for a period about things and places Gamzee didn’t quite understand; his head was somewhere in the stars, and he couldn’t seem to get grounded enough to try to decipher it. He moved in and out of consciousness, his body pain-free. He just lay there and enjoyed not feeling for a while.

He swore he heard a whisper close to him, but no one but his ancestor and the Empress was around him. Still it nagged in the back of his thinkpan like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He let himself drift around catching snippets of their conversations. (“Are you sure?”, “When have I even been unsure about sending in a Thresh team?”) Other times he heard the vaguest mentions of him, though he couldn’t focus. Instead he drifted back off to sleep, words trying to claw their way to the front of his mind. Still nothing more than a whisper, though it wanted to be louder.

His elder shifted and the chain around Gamzee’s neck rattled against the floor. Both of them went silent. He knew, and decided he was starting to understand this, that they knew he was as close to awake as he was going to be until the pain killers wore off. The chain was tugged, and he somehow managed to find all his limbs and get them to work. He pulled himself out from under the table, looking up to his elder, still sleepy and mostly unaware. The first thing he saw was a smile. He tried not to be comforted in the thought that even though he passed out his ancestor wasn’t angry. His elder moved and pulled him up to his lap.

“He’s still so sleepy.” The Empress’ lususly tone of voice was far less obnoxious than when he was in pain. “That’s adorable.” His elder’s hand moved up to the side of Gamzee’s face, thumb trailing along his cheek and then across his lips.

“For once I’ll agree with you.” His elder’s voice was softer than before. He was sure when the pain killers wore off he’d feel every hit that was landed earlier. But that was later, and he really should be living in the moment now, as this could be his final one. “Good aftermid, little one.”

Gamzee wanted to talk, but it more came out a slurred whine and concoction of noises. He actually didn’t know if his throat would work any more. He couldn’t tell if it hurt, so he had to assume that without the painkillers it would hurt. The Empress let out a surprised noise.

“Oh god, what did you do to him? I didn’t think it was possible to have him be like this.”

“Until the drugs wear off, you have your grub. Though his voice’s inability is his own doing.”

“I don’t care, it’s adorable!” The whisper was louder in his head. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could sense words somewhere in the back of his mind. “Can I have him?”

“Of course.” His elder stood, taking Gamzee with him. A few steps later he was brought into other arms.

“My little wriggler, you’re so cute.” The Empress was stroking Gamzee’s back, still talking at him like he was fresh out of the brooding caverns. “When you’re feeling better, you’ll play without fighting, won’t you? Won’t you?” He made another noise. “Can I just cut out his voice box so he does nothing but make these noises?”

“I don’t think cutting out his entire voice box would work. He couldn’t really make noises then. Perhaps we can just damage it enough he can’t make words, only sounds.”

“Oh please, please - maybe not now, he has so much to learn, but when he’s done. My cute wittle wriggler could stay this way…” Condesce paused, realization sinking in. “Any thoughts how you are going to keep him from accessing that blood predisposition? I don’t want him to get much bigger than this.”

“There are some interesting drugs on the market, I’ll see what I can do. Do you think I would want him any different? He’s right where I like him.”

“He’s the perfect size for the both of us. We found it, the perfect size. Maybe, wigu, when we get my other descendant both of you can snuggle up like grubs. My cute little grubbies. Then we’ll cut up both of your voices. Ohh, lovey, can we?”

“How long can you keep her alive before your lusus throws a shitfit about there being two of you?”

“Maybe there is a way to break a psychic connection.”

“Maybe, doll? I could just get in her head and have her break it. It might take time. And that comes with risk.”

“Could you do it before the little runaway cunt pupates? If you can, then we can keep them. I can have my two little perfect grubs, make them into good little poppets.” The Empress pinched Gamzee’s cheek, and he wasn’t sure if that was meant to be funny or not.

“You’ll have to be in charge of her. Tyrian blood, while powerful, wouldn’t be within the laws. Not without her being killed. I assume you’d like to keep her alive.”

“I could keep her, I guess, though she’d be suited to be with him. Perhaps you and I could take turns having ownership of them. Of course any major changes to them would have to be approved. Maybe we could make them carry on the legacy.”

“As far as I can tell he didn’t have any relationships. Well, any worth noting. He had friends, but nothing more.”

“Ohhh.” Condesce cuddled him closer. “My poor little grub! You must have been so lonely, Gammy. Don’t worry, mommy and daddy will take care of you now.” She had the faintest smirk as she looked back at his elder. He couldn’t quite process much of what they were saying, his brain muddy, but he knew to be worried. Pain-free didn’t mean worry-free. “You mean he had no one? Maybe we could–” He didn’t like where his conversation was going. He tried to pull away from her, a shaking whine escaping him. “Hush, wigu, the adults are talking.”

“It would only be right, taking responsibility for a wriggler’s mistakes is what mammals do, right?”

“I don’t honestly know, not that it matters. We can do whatever we want, he is Moha now.”

“You’ll have to wait for him to be a little more conscious. It wouldn’t be any fun to try to play with him now. I can take him back and let him sleep them off.”

“I’ll have to wait? I can see you licking your chops at that idea.” His elder smirked. “Take him back, we’ll see him tomorrow night.” Gamzee was shifted between arms again, whimpering somewhere in the top part of his throat, and it sounded more like he was crying.

The walk back was through one of those four doors and across the hall. He was walked back to his cell. Before his elder stooped down to put him back in, there was a long pause and he could feel eyes roving along him. Not in debate, instead in something else entirely that made his skin crawl and want to fall off his bones to get as far away from here as possible. He looked up to his ancestor, trying to get an explanation as to why he wasn’t just chucked back towards his mat.

“Gamzee.” His elder’s voice vibrated in his chest and he could feel his name being used. When the pause almost extended beyond comfortably long, Gamzee made a noise to show he was listening. “Keep yourself.” He nodded the best he could, though he could tell the motion was long and drawn out. “Good boy.” Another little smile from his elder. “You fragile little thing, I hope you understand. I am doing this for your own good, no one will ever care about you as much as I do.”

His elder shifted him in his arms, lips ghosted against his. Gamzee understood what he agreed to, and each and every warning from that conversation. He closed his eyes and imagined someone else as he pushed their lips together. He could learn to accept this. He focused on how dry his lips were in comparison, and ignored the hand that tensed on his hip and the other that held the side of his head.

His ancestor pulled him back after too long of a moment. “Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fovos' Alternian dictionary:  
> Namoha (n.)  
> A lower who is owned by a higher. _Archaic._ pl. -mohij


	27. Chapter 27

He woke up in a cool dark room, one he didn’t recognize. He woke up standing, and he realized he was dreaming. He didn’t wake up with that realization, so, with a shrug, he walked forward. The fall of his feet echoed around the room. The floor creaked, and he could hear a murmur through the room. He looked around, not finding the walls, only darkness; he looked up to the ceiling and saw it extended into the same blackness. The only thing he could seem see was the warped wooden floor below him. Stained with blood, and not in any definable pattern. He continued walking, watching one hue turn into another.

He felt at peace, like coming back into his hive. There was a sense of foreboding, but it was slight and didn’t bother him all that much. He was lusus-free for so long he learned to relax with the constant threat of someone breaking in and hurting him. All things considered, this place was a nice reprieve. He felt as if there was someone watching him - actually, someones. But that could have just been the nerves. He kept walking, waiting to run into a wall or find someone or something. Surely this place had edges, the blackness couldn’t go on forever.

He caught a glimpse of his arm in his peripheral vision, and he came to a stop, lifting his arm so he could look at it. Where his wrist was broken, the flesh and muscle were stripped off. He could see the bone, broken, polished, the only thing that kept it attached was tendons. Experimentally, he moved it, and found that it moved like he was still put together. He raised his other hand and touched it. He could feel himself touching his hand.

This was a dream, it made sense. The skinned part of his arm didn’t bleed, it was just there, covered in dried blood, but where he carved his bind was bleeding, weeping purple on to the floor. He looked behind him and found he had a trail.

He brought his hand to his lip and found that bleeding as well, covering his chest. All his wounds remaining alive and open. Viewable. He didn’t know if this was a nightmare or not, and he could feel his stomach drop terribly. He had been so at peace until he saw his injuries. The room seemed to shift, and he waited for the nightmare to kick in. The room felt heavy and he waited for something to spring out of the darkness and hurt him, or perhaps just a growl. It would be disembodied and he’d be trapped in the darkness with it.

“Hello.” He jumped. The voice was small, rough. Slightly distant. “I have been trying to talk to you all night.” But sweet enough. He opened his eyes and turned slowly. A girl, or someone who had once been a girl, was standing before him. She was covered in yellow, flesh stripped off at her elbows, five of her fingers gone, spread between both hands. Her teeth were completely gone, though she spoke as if she had them and her smile wasn’t any less beautiful.

“Laneen Chaton.” She offered the hand with three fingers and he took it into his own. He didn’t even blink at the fact he was shaking hands with a dead girl.

“Gamzee,” he said, leaving off his symbols name.

“Makara, correct?” She didn’t seem phased saying it.

“I don’t be too thrilled with it at passing,” he said nervously. He really didn’t want to jinx them with the name.

“I will not judge you, it is not my place to judge you here. I can only tell you of me, of us, what will come to pass, and your choices. Your body can only take so much, kin. I am here to educate you, and offer you what help I can from this side.”

“Kin?”

“We refer to each other as such. We are all, after all, the forgotten ones, the bonds of tragedy, the captives of comedy. We all have much in common, despite the fact life would have separated us. You will understand and have as much in common in time, Gamzee.” She nodded, showing off the top part of her scalp that had been peeled back. He noticed that two of her four horns had a film around the bottom. He understood they weren’t a part of her, as the other set faded into the bone of her skull.

“Am I dead?”

She smiled again. “Not yet. But probably soon. Do not let their temperament fool you. We have watched souls do less and be killed. We have watched them do more and be left clinging to life desperately. As I was saying, your body can only take so much, and eventually your body will fail. Then you will join us, as kin, not just a Between but a true and actual kin.”

“Is that why I feel other trolls but not see them?”

“Yes, we have all watched you, felt the energy you gave us, even in your own grief. But grief is a very powerful tool. His due will come soon, seeing as he only has one thing to take from you. Then you will be free. As an aside, I know you wondered, but if you want I’ll tell you my story.”

“Would it bother you?”

“No - that was then, this is now. The past reminds us what’s done, we all have a story. But we try to look for more. Much like you, I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Hag is the one who claimed me. She told me I looked like her Helmsman. She pulled me to her ship, then we moved to the Cell, that is where you are now. The Keeper asked to claim my soul. You, like I, are special to them.”

“Why?”

“You are theirs, much like I was the The Hag and her Helmsman’s grub. Though you are made from both of them, therefore you’ll have both their wants, not just hers.”

“They ain’t just speaking that like a sick game?”

“No, they have been with each other for many, many sweeps.” She shifted and looked over her shoulder. He could see the wound on her neck split open and blood rolled out over her clothes. He looked closer at the wound and realized her throat had been torn out. “Yes,” she said simply.

“Huh?”

“That’s how I died. She tore out my throat when I clawed my tongue to uselessness. I refused her whims and she showed me her wrath. When I reacted no more, death came to me. Although we are trapped, all bound to this place, it is peaceful here; he calls us rarely. He always watches, but he does not rule as he does in life. Though if he were to know you were already here, he would be quite irate. We think he understands we offer each kin a choice. It is apparently blasphemy for a living troll to speak to the dead.”

“It is, without there being a meeting of the General. How is it you’re motherfucking able to speak with me without it?”

“You are bound as much as we are, your dreams will sometimes bring you here. At least in my experience. I did not always dream of this place. Though I preferred it to my other dreams. You would not know of that though. You are less susceptible to the voodoos he places on minds. Your body is naturally resistant to him, he cannot torment you as much while you sleep. It was his other game with us. One you have not experienced, and I am glad for it.”

“I see.” He looked around the darkness again. Silence spread over them. A long moment of them taking in each others appearance. She shifted and looked at him.

“It is not normal for you to be like this, bound up and caged. It is not natural for any troll. But for you even less. You crave freedom, blood, you crave violence as much as he does.”

“I don’t!”

“Yes, you do. Your conscious mind rejects it, but deep down you do not mind what he does, if it was to any other but yourself. In another time you would have grown to become hi–”

“Fuck you.” She smiled, he growled. “I don’t have any desires to be fucking up people like he does. Bloodlink or not, I don’t want to be like him.”

“I am happy you said that, Gamzee. It means a lot for me to hear that. I had to be sure.” He relaxed, and stared. She looked over her shoulder again. “Sennir, come.” Gamzee looked into the darkness, and didn’t see anything she might be looking at. “You are offered three choices. I am one, you are the other, and Sennir is the last. We must wait for him.”

“I fucking hate choices.”

“We all do, but they are a fact of death and life and this will be the hardest choice you have had to make. You will not last; they are more accustomed to boredom then interest and are particularly knowledgeable when there is any amount of boredom. At that point you will be killed.”

Out of the darkness came a form. Slowly, as if he had to pull himself from his shackles. But he walked as if it was easy. He was covered in cerulean. The flesh on his legs was completely gone and his core was torn open and leaving puddles of blood behind him as he moved forward. Half of his face and neck was torn off, exposing the skull below. Despite his ghastly appearance, he looked pleasant enough.

“Is this the Keeper’s bloodlink?”

“Sennir, do not start - he has said he has no desire to be like him.”

“Words mean nothing.”

“Please kin, let him try. I know, as you know, the loneliness of The Cell. You know how they warp you into wanting nothing but their affection, even if it is vile and terrible. Until you can take no more and you yield to one of the choices.” The blue blood sighed. Gamzee took notice of the two semi-circles that overlapped on his chest. “And he gave us a boost of power, if we could break our bond from the Keeper we would be free of this place.”

“Sennir Lilura.” They grasped hands. “We will offer you your choices, kin. I cannot change your fate, though we try with every soul who manages to get trapped in their snare. We offer the same options to every one. No matter your choice you will always be kin. I have been there, and I was the only to accept the choice I offer you. In turn, I was torn apart.”

“I’m sorry.” Gamzee wasn’t sure if it was okay to apologize to ghosts.

“I’ve found peace in death, as much peace as you can find in this darkness. Nothing will change where you end up, no matter the choice you make; that mark on your arm binds you to him.”

“Nor can we change what will happen next, Gamzee. You feast on yourself, your body taking its water from wherever it can find it. If you do not choose soon, your days are counted.”

“No doubt they count them with anxiousness. I think the Hag and Keeper revel more with the dead then they do with the alive. All they know is death, pain, and tears. They preside over them like they are a feast. Their natural habitat,” Sennir said bitterly, and low. It wasn’t meant to be more then his own observation.

“There is no place where evil souls go, all the devils roam the land,” Laneen said softly in response.

“True,” he said.

Laneen cleared her throat, a rough scratching noise he understood too well. “This is your choice, not theirs, not one that is rigged. There are only three options. The choice you represent is; letting go of yourself and allowing them to dictate you. They will choose when you live or when you die. You will not hold yourself to any responsibility. Their whims dictate your fate.”

“I offer,” Sennir said, “freedom, or an attempt at it.”

“And I offer control.”

“What do you motherfucking mean? Freedom, control, or giving up, those are my choices?”

“Yes, grim as they are. There is not much else. I offer you the choice to take your life. It would be on your terms, not on theirs. You would take control of your death. Take your claws and cut through your arms or throat. If that does not work, the bits of your horn you salvaged could be pressed into your eye. You could lie face down in the tray and let yourself sleep. There are many ways to control your death.”

“I offer you freedom, you can escape. If you can grab something thin enough to push into the lock you can open the mechanism. I used a knife. It would and does involve some ingenuity, but I managed to unlock it and almost make it. They found me before I could fully escape. They will hunt you but they don’t have to find you.”

“Or you can let them take your life. As I said we are not the ones to judge you, we have all made our own choices. All of us die eventually, and no matter your choice we will accept you as one of us. Precious and lonely kin, trapped in the Darkness of Humors. You will always be trusted with us.”

“But you can do what we couldn’t. You’re resilient to his psychic powers. Other purplebloods have come and gone, but you are the first to wear his sign. Your powers match, when powers like that meet they cannot interact like they would with other trolls.”

“Are these my only choices?” he muttered. “I know they are. It’s just motherfucking raw. I wanted to up and free all of you… See, I follow the faith. I basically know how he keeps you all trapped here and it’s cruel. I wanted to lift you up on high, let nothing ever hurt you again.” He sighed.

“Unfortunately, we still fight him even in death.”

“You’ve fought your fight, how many trolls have you made this offer to? How many have you tried to guide? You’ve made your difference, you deserve to sleep. To really rest. No death could come to you, could take you, only sleep. You will rest in the iron gates among the most blessed. You are free, honored above all. Perfect among the most divine, divided among the strongest. You will relish in beauty of the jovial lights, in wonders never seen by living eyes, bathed with the most euphoric of words from the spirits themselves.

“You will learn the true name of the One, your souls his most treasured gift. Under the moonlight and open sky your soul will be revered. You will feel no pain. Free from crossroads that you wandered. Free from shackles of position and birthright. You are blessed among the Messiahs.”

The room shifted and the two other trolls looked at him, worry crossing their features. They both looked around. The room was ebbing as if the darkness had come to life. Moving, searching, but as lost as they were. He could feel the anger then, the violence, the pure need for blood. He swallowed nervously.

“The Keeper is angry,” Laneen said. “Do your words weaken his hold?”

“In the Church those rites should free you, they should push your soul to judgment. You are a sacrifice. You would be revered among the Messiahs, the Spirits would see you as equal. The church is cruel, I’ll admit that, but we offer our sacrifices the most blessed afterlife. They would be revered over the strongest and most devoted subjugglator.” Both of them looked at each other, confused. An echo of a growl bounced around the room. Dark and menacing. He watched as fear, he also felt, light in their whited eyes.

“You must make your decision… before he finds us.”

Gamzee growled, his body alight with energy he hadn’t felt since he was put in the Cell. Here the rules were different. Here he wasn’t going to die of injuries, here he was as strong as he ever had been. His elder’s trap for souls or not. That shouldn’t change the raw power he had inside him. If it did, he’d be a shit sacrifice.

“No, I’ll make my fucking choice, in my time. I ain’t letting another motherfucker suffer for my stupidity. Even if I up and choose to die, even if I live forever. I know he’ll go for them. He’ll take the trolls I cared about and make them play this sick game.” Anger he had boiling overflowed and sizzled over his skin. Both of the ghosts were staring at him. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, I don’t know how to predict them. But you know what? Fuck it. All I see from the mat I’m bleeding on is everything is broken, cracked, filthy. Just like them. I’ve tried to fight them and I can’t win.

“I know they are watching me, I know that no one is coming to my rescue. I know when I wake up I’ll be tortured until I pass out or they get tired. I know that tomorrow could be my last night. I shouldn’t be as okay with that as I am. I know you both and I have tried, and been trying to get through this the best we can, but motherfuck all of it. I won’t let go of any of you, all of you skeletons, all of my kin. But I ain’t letting go of the ones that be alive either.

“I won’t let him fucking find us. I don’t know how the fuck that’ll work, but I’m pissed off enough that I’m fucking determined.” The anger fizzled out from him, rough and sluggish, and slammed up against the darkness, clearing it, light around their feet, and the room shifted back like he never said any scripture. “Fuck the Keeper and the Hag. Fuck my bloodlinks. I’ll make my choice, but I’ll make it in my own motherfucking time.”

“If you die?” Sennir asked, looking confused. He was looking around the Trap, as if trying to find where his ancestor’s mental presence went.

“If I die I end up here. It’s my choice to make. They kill me before, I ain’t gonna regret it. I knew where I was gonna end up. Each option is death in its own way.”

“What did you do?” Laneen asked, looking around the cleared darkness.

Gamzee shrugged, looking at the ghosts. “I don’t know, I just needed to vent.”

“I cannot feel the Keeper’s presence, after what feels like eons. It is a relief, I will admit. How did you manage it?”

He shrugged again. If he knew he’d tell them. “Maybe I just got too pissed off for him to handle.”

Sennir laughed. It was a deep throaty laugh that brought a smile to Gamzee’s face. “Does this mean we’ll see you on the other side, kin? Or will your anger be enough to free you?”

“If I have any motherfucking real choice you won’t be seeing me for sweeps, and when you do all of you will be sitting pretty among the Messiahs, kicking back the most wicked of elixirs with the motherfuckers. I be finding you away to free you. I don’t know how, and I can’t make no promises, but I’ll be trying.”

“You are the strangest troll I have ever offered the choices to,” Laneen said with a smile.

“Well, at least I’m something. Tell the rest of the kin I’ll be doing my best, if not I’ll see them soon. They ain’t got to fear me, I ain’t him. I don’t ever want to be him.”

“Gamzee…” Laneen said, looking at Sennir with a slight worried expression. “I do not know if it would be right to tell you this, bu–”

“No, he’ll know in time. No offense, kin, but what she was going to tell you you’ll know soon enough. It’s sick and unfortunate. We don’t hold it against you.” He cocked his head to the side, but they didn’t elaborate. He wouldn’t push them, that was rude and if he’d know in time then he’d know. No point in rushing into unfortunate revelations… again.

“I’ll keep you both in my prayers,” he said softly. “I should go back, and do some thinking about my fate.”

“Fate,” Sennir said with a snort.

“Yes, fate, brother-kin. I got the smallest of rights to choose where mine be leading.” Sennir looked at Laneen with exasperation.

“I do not know,” she said with a shrug. “You surprise me, Gamzee.” He smiled; they might all be skeletons, they might all be dead, but in the end they were still barely-adult trolls in a shitty situation, and somehow he was making friends with the welcome wagon of death.

“Will I see you all again?”

“I do not know, perhaps you will dream of us again. If you do end up in here, call for us. We will come to you. We know this darkness better. We would not want you going someplace that might get you hurt.” He nodded. “Gamzee?” she said as he begin to turn.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

“Many sweet returns, sister-kin. The next time I hope to see all of you is when I free you from this place.”

“I can only dream of that joy,” she said, a sad smile crossing her face.

“Best of luck from me as well, kin.”

“Brother-kin, if I choose to escape…”

“Yes?”

“How do I open the lock?”

“You need a knife or something similar, you have to twist it just right, pressing on the mechanism. The door will open but you have to be pressing it open at the same time. It’s difficult but not impossible.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure all your stories go on. As long as I be able.”

“Good luck, kin.”

The light he created in the darkness faded and they were consumed into inky blackness. He didn’t move around in it. Instead he moved his hands up to his exposed bone. He felt it for a moment and willed himself to wake.

The lights were on in the cell, his body aching all over again. The painkillers had worn off, which meant whatever idea he vaguely remembered from the night before would come to pass. He looked around the room and found it empty. He pulled himself up and looked through the bars. There was a cabinet beside him, it was more than likely locked. Nothing else close, and he had no idea how to get or hide a knife on him. Enough he could have it long enough he could break out of the cage.

He moved to the door and felt at the lock. It wasn’t one of the automated locks most of Alternia had. He pushed a claw into the hole to see if he could feel the way it worked. He was never any good at shit like this, but his dream had given him new drive. They were bound, maybe he could find a way to save all of them. Even if he couldn’t, it gave him something to hold onto. Which was more than he had yesterday. He couldn’t feel much, and decided to leave the door alone. The last thing he wanted was for them to walk in and have his claw jammed into the mechanism. If he was going to choose to escape he wanted to keep that a secret.

He moved back to his the edge of his mat, sitting down, looking at the maze of lines above the door. Trying to make sense of any of it. The very top had something that looked like the sign for the crossroads. Two stop indicators, one go indicator, and one symbol he didn’t recognize. He glared at the wall hoping it would begin to make sense. When it didn’t, his eyes roved along the strange carvings, stops, gos, lines that had been scratched out. Each symbol meant something. The question was, what did they mean?

The door opened. He almost missed the sound, he was concentrating too much on the wall, but he caught the click as the door closed once more, the clatter of heels on tiled floor. He was half-tempted to call her the Hag in his mind, but he worried that if he did he would slip up and end up saying it out loud. The Hag and his Keeper walked to his room. He had a private joke with ghosts, he managed to have a private joke with other trolls while he was locked in a cage. He fought a laugh at the thought.

He wondered when his life got so ridiculous.

His ancestor and the Condesce were talking. He didn’t mind their words, he really didn’t care what they had to say. Whatever happened here would decide his choice. If he died before the night was out, they just made his choice easier.

They reached the cage and he watched with rapt attention with how it was unlocked. When it swung open he moved to get out. He’d do it without prompting until he could do no more. He came out of the cage, still walking. Both of them looked somewhere between surprised and happy. When he was good, he was very, very good.

“Did you knock some sense into him the other night?”

“I’m starting to wonder that myself. How do you feel?” He shrugged. “I think I managed to make him think, but his voice is gone.” He honestly didn’t know if his voice worked or not. He wouldn’t try until he had no other choice.

“Oh no,” The Ha- Condesce pouted. “Wigu, can you make any noises?” He pantomimed trying. If they knew he had some ability they’d stretch it until it broke, and he might need some of his voice later. Condesce grabbed his horn and pulled him towards her; her finger ran over his lips, then down to his neck. “He’s dehydrated,” she said softly. “I’m sure he’s starving as well, but dehydration is a bigger problem.” She let him go and with a sharp turn and the sound of her shoes hitting the floor she was gone.

“You better not be trying to kill yourself this way, it’s slow and easily remedied.” His elder’s hand was on Gamzee’s shoulder. There might have been something underlying those words. Like he knew what Gamzee had dreamed earlier. Or maybe he was imagining things. He shook his head, he honestly wasn’t trying to kill himself. But his kin told him the water was unsafe to drink. He’d trust them, they had been through this before. “Good.”

The hand on his shoulder tensed before it moved to pick him up and take him back to the raised platform where the Empress sat the first night. Instead, his elder sat on another chair beside it and held Gamzee on his lap. He was half-turned, one leg over the arm rest, basically ignoring the other hand that felt his skin as well. Obviously, they were informed enough to know how to keep a troll alive even in the worst conditions. The fact Condesce sounded so worried about him being dehydrated boded well for his treatment as time went on. As of now they didn’t want him dead. Which, according to Laneen, didn’t mean much, but maybe it meant something. He looked at the fresh cuts on his arm. Puckered and raw, but not bleeding.

She returned with a glass in her hand and she came over to Gamzee, handing it to him. He realized he was trembling as he took hold of it. He lifted his wrapped arm to help steady his grasp and brought it up to his parched lips. This time he was far more careful; no matter how great the water tasted, or how badly he wanted it, he drank slowly, making sure it didn’t pour down him. Still, he downed the glass in record time, his mouth feeling about a million times better. She produced another from her sylladex, and set it on the metal table near the center of the room.

“Give him a few minutes to process it,” Condesce said.

“I’m not an idiot,” his elder said with a sigh, large fingers rubbing Gamzee’s back in small circles. He took their moment of banter to look around the room, not seeing any obvious places where tools would be hidden, and unfortunately any tool that had been used on him was gathered when he was too scared or too out of it to watch.

There were cabinets around, though, but they all seemed to have heavy locks. Getting something to escape would be impossible, let alone the whole wandering around a ship full of devoted followers, on top of trying to find a place he never visited. His mental map faded, but could be workable. If he did manage to escape, he knew that the death that would come for him wouldn’t be quick. It would be long, drawn out, and terrible. If he killed himself, he could do that with relative ease. Though he wasn’t quite sure if he was prepared to die. Trying to wait them out seemed impossible. But if he did manage to stay good, and really stay good, he might be free to roam without chains. If he could get there, maybe one night he could just slip away.

He liked that choice the best. Sure it meant dealing with… whatever this was for longer. But he could possibly, probably handle it. He didn’t pay attention to how long their conversation went. Time was as unreliable as their words, and could quite possibly be as evil as his body. It was when the Empress put her hands against his grubscars and kneaded the cartilage that he couldn’t ignore them anymore. He couldn’t help the gasp as she pressed into him, heat shooting through him, away from cold fingers. The Empress smiled, pressing closer, her fingers dancing along the scars.

“He can make noises again,” she said, too happy for his liking. He made another noise, his body tensing as he tried not to yank away from her; he would have been stuck pressing against his ancestor. Whatever they were angling for, he obviously had to be more willing than he was.

He promised himself, no matter the outcome of his choice, he and his body would be in disagreement for a very long time. His ancestor’s hands joined hers and he was left between two very similar yet very different forces that made everything tense, twist, and twitch. He was making a cracked chirpy clicking in the back of his throat. He would try to fight it, but he knew he’d fail and just get disappointed in his efforts. He’d save that energy for something else.

He was raised up higher. His ancestor’s free hand on his side still, one of Condesce’s hands moved off him though the other was still kneading into his side. He was shaking, and not in pain, or anything remotely close. He tried to pretend it was pain just to make the thought bearable. When he was set back down he could feel what was going to come to pass. It slid along his leg and along sensitive skin. He felt sick and too warm by it, though the need that shot through him made acid creep up his throat.

His entire body tensed; though it enjoyed the idea, apparently it was smart enough to realize his head still didn’t want this. It wasn’t like the other times, where his body betrayed him so badly it made his thinkpan damn sure it was what he wanted. He whined, it cracked and popped in his throat like an overplayed record. He was young, hormonal, and biologically driven to pail. Apparently, that extended to even if he really didn’t want it. It extended to the two trolls that made him come into existence. He tried to pull away from the touches on his sides, but was more concerned about the thin, cold fingers stroking against his seedflap. Pressing into muscle and stiff cloth did nothing to get him away from this, tears licked at his eyes, and he fought that fight. Not with the Hag so close, she might get angry with him for crying.

Her fingers pressed into the folds, against that sensitive spot just before his nook started and his bulge ended. She rubbed it slowly, both of them working well together. Enough that his body was flush with stimulation. No amount of mental pleading could stop that tight feeling as his bulge uncoiled and sought her hand. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping if he imagined something or someone else it would help. But the structure, the temperature, the act was too off to be misconstrued as anything else. This time he didn’t have to question what was going to happen. Her fingers let him coil around them, he could feel a wry smirk at the action. Hands still rubbing his grubscars, making him pant though he didn’t want to as it would just dry out his mouth again.

Slickness slid along the slit of his nook. He knew he was unprepared, and he knew everything was going to hurt again. He dreaded to think how his kin might have felt. Laneen’s actual horns barely brushed his sternum. Thinking of that soothed him somewhat; the pain he felt and would feel wasn’t localized to him alone. This time wasn’t like the first, it was slower. More deliberate, and less rushed. This felt down right intimate compared to the last time. He hated that that was something he was feeling. The tip of his ancestor’s bulge stroked him, nudging against places that made him press his head back and make noises; he wasn’t sure if they were sad, happy, wanting, or disgusted. Condesce’s hands moved rhythmically with practiced precision, shooting sensation through him with ease. His legs relaxed and slid wider and he knew that was a sob coming out of his throat. He could feel both of them smiling. He could smell, hear, taste, and feel that they were enjoying this.

Despite all of his senses being taken up by unwanted input, his focus was on the darkness behind his eyelids. The safest place he could be. Like when he was a little wriggler and he’d hide in his ‘coon even in the middle of the night if he heard a suspicious noise. His hips lurched forward, and he could hear his throat offer them a moan as the tip slid inside him. That wasn’t the painful part and he knew it. It was a few seconds later, when he’d push deeper and rougher into him, when his elder was too big for where he was trying to push himself. Pain wasn’t slow to react, but was temporarily ignored to listen to his elder groan. The Empress chuckled; it wasn’t harsh, instead she sounded pleased that his ancestor was enjoying himself so much. Burning slowly rocked his insides and he let a rogue tear or two fall.

“Does he feel good, love?”

“You have no idea. He must be walking around tensing his muscles just to keep them fit for me.”

“How sweet of him to think of your pleasure. I can’t wait to see if he stays that conscientious for me.” The Empress punctuated that sentence with a pleasurable grab around Gamzee’s bulge. The fire that shot through him made his ancestor moan.

He realized he had nowhere for his hands, they were just gripping at air again. Unless he wanted to wrap them around the Empress he had nowhere to put them. He felt like an idiot, grabbing at air like it would be something he could hang on to. Then he realized he was almost doing the splits, and he didn’t even realize that was something his joints could do. He realized, as a final thing, he had the stupidest thoughts during this.

The Empress untangled her hand from him, pulling back, and she was far enough away that he knew she was taking in the scene. Some fine art piece that she was privileged enough to see. His ancestor’s hands slid down to Gamzee’s thighs and he could feel the static along his skin from every inch he touched. He gripped them and moved them, forcing more of the bulge inside him. Gamzee whimpered, and once his legs were in position his elder spared him one comforting gesture; rubbing the tips of his fingers against his hips, making his body want to relax against the pressure.

Ice touched his legs and made him jump, rocking the bulge in him, making him nearly wail as it pressed into some painful part of him. He wondered if it was still sore from the last time. It wouldn’t have surprised him. The weight against the top part of his thighs was cold and wrong, and the finger that slid under his chin made it worse. The other hand slid down his torso, loving, petting, urging. He opened his eyes, he knew that was what she wanted. He did it, hating it, but just doing it.

She smiled, her hand moving down lower, wrapping around his bulge once more. He gasped, his hips pressing back, rocking the bulge inside him. She shifted against him, moving her hips closer. His eyes widened. Oh fuck no, he mentally said. But he knew he couldn’t stop it. He could reach a hand down and try, but he was pretty firmly attached to his ancestor and she was basically on top of him. Seemingly reading his mind, she shifted, her legs sliding over his thighs, holding only the very smallest amount of her weight off of him.

Her hand pulled his bulge from coiling with itself and before it could get any bright ideas about wrapping around her hand she scooted her hips closer. Her nook was like ice. He hissed as he, with her assistance, pushed inside of her. She moved her hands to his shoulders and held on. He closed his eyes again as she moaned, more of him pressing into her. It felt wrong, beyond the wrong of him not wanting it. Her body was odd against him, but as long as he kept her happy he’d be alright.

He focused on the feeling as his hips moved, trapped between pain and trying to get off. It wasn’t like he was against the idea of being in the right nook. Maybe it was because she was so cold, other than the obvious other reasons. Her fingers tensed on his shoulders, pressing her hips against him, a small pocket of air being the only thing that separated their bodied from completely touching, and soon that gap was bridged. Her body pressed against him. His ancestor’s hand moved from his side and wrapped around her back. He could feel them sharing something silent over his head. A silent-half-joke he didn’t understand and didn’t want to. The last time he wondered about those it turned out badly.

Her hips moved and he could feel his bulge squirming in her. The motion stroked the sensitive place where his bulge extended from him, and he shuddered in want. His breath was hot on her skin as it came out in puffs. His elder was making sure both of them stayed close, the bulge inside him snaking deeper, the Empress bearing down on him. Tightness that wasn’t frozen any more encased him.

“Is he worth it?” There was a vibration and a heavy over-lacing of lust in his ancestor’s voice.

“He’s not too bad for a little grub.” Condesce’s voice was much closer to him. Her hips moved a little faster, forcing his body to follow the lead and slide the bulge in and out of himself even with all the twisting. Her nook walls were tightening around him, moving rhythmically with her small circles. Gamzee could feel the skin around his eyes shaking. He tried to bar his voice from escaping from him. “I can tell he’s never done this before.” Despite his inexperience, she was still making little breathy noises around her words. “But I’ll teach him.”

She pressed down harder, his hips separating wider, running into her calves. His joints groaned from strain as more of his elder’s bulge pushed into him. His hands tensed into fists. He pressed his head back, aware he was offering most of his throat towards her, and not really caring. His bulge was moving in and out of her, electricity and heat jolting through him. His body was shaking, and he was taken by surprise when he felt her bulge slide along him. He turned his head to the side, closing his eyes until his vision started creating lights.

His nook was already sore, and if she tried to push in he was sure he’d tear in half. His hands tensed as it moved along him, waiting for inescapable pain; instead she just moaned, her bulge wrapping around the base of his. Coiling around him the best she could, pushing inside herself, her hips picked up their speed, hands and claws tensing on his shoulders. He tried to ignore the way his hips pressed up as her bulge kneaded with his. The way the added flesh made her nook tense even more.

He focused on anything else; the way his claws were cutting crescent moons into his palm was better than the pressure building inside him as their bulges coiled in a tight, wet space. The light-headness was better than noises he was making and his dramatic inability to breathe properly. The way she was pressing down so hard against him his hips felt like they were about to break was better than the violation in surround sound that would never be forgotten.

She started that chanting of curse words, cooing at him again. This time he couldn’t help but focus on each and every word. “That’s it, wigu, give into it.” He tried to play something else in his mind; songs, conversations, even the ear shattering noise of his claws on metal. Nothing seemed to block them out. “That’s my boy, give it to me. Enjoy yourself. Let yourself go inside me.” Her voice was still in mock grub-talk. He whimpered in response. His body was trying to rectify its size and his mind was firmly against the action. Heat was licking at his toes and snaking up his legs. He was shaking and he could feel each and every muscle move against him.

Every muscle in him tightened to the point of snapping. His head pressed as far back as he could, trying to get away from the situation, trying to not be a part of this act. He could only move a centimeter as his body shook violently, every muscle in him unwinding, and the Empress moaned next to his ear. He wanted to throw up, but he had nothing but water he desperately needed in his stomach, so he caught it in his mouth and swallowed it back down. His ancestor’s hand tensed on the Empress and he could hear him groaning along with her.

The Empress kept hold of his bulge in hers, still rocking against him. Now, all his muscles slack, he realized how much her weight hurt him. Her claws were ripping at his shoulders and it stung terribly too. One hand pulled off the bloody rivulets and grabbed his chin. Forcing his head forward, she panted at him to open his eyes. He had a brief crisis of mission, but to stay good he had to do it. Slowly he let them open, hating the scene before him. The look on her face, the way she smiled before groaning, the way he had to watch her body tense and push down on him. Her weight didn’t stop pressing him against his ancestor. A sharp crack echoed through his right hip and he nearly screamed, his body pushing down lower than should have been possible.

He didn’t even have time to truly react. Ice encased his bulge as the Empress shook against him, claws digging into his shoulder and the side of his neck. A whined scream rolled out of his throat, his body hurting in an entirely different way then it ever had before. He told himself one day they’d stop being able to do that. One day he’d be used to all of everything they could throw at him. It didn’t really help any of the pain now.

He was shaking as the Condesce shifted. She didn’t let his bulge pull entirely out of her, nor did she allow hers to unwrap from him. Her weight moved off his thighs, and when she was high enough he was sure his length would slip out a moment later she put a hand under his chin. “Open your eyes, wriggler. I want you to watch.” He didn’t want to watch. He hoped this wouldn’t be something that made him want to claw out his eyes.

Slowly his eyes opened again, and she was above him proud, terrifying, and smiling. Venom dripped from her fangs as she fussed with her hand for a moment before producing a pail. No, no, no, Messiahs no. He was going to claw out his eyes, once his body was responding. She moved her leg on to the armrest, and let him go, he heard genetic fluid hitting metal and he wanted to vomit again. The Empress shuddered, and he watched the sickening mix of fuchsia and purple drip out of her. She smiled at him; there were too many teeth, and the bulge inside him shifted painfully.

“Oh, you like that, love?”

“Between your display and how fucking tight he is, I’m surprised I’ve kept my composure.”

“You can fuck him if you need, he is carrying on a tradition. Albeit very poorly.”

“We’ll make sure he carries on something. I wonder how many more eons before we have another one to play with. Perhaps in time we’ll get him a moirail, so he can carry it on properly.”

Gamzee’s stomach dropped. He made a noise that was supposed to be a “what?” but it sounded nothing close to the word.

“Maybe when we find our other grub they can get all pale then pail with each other. It would just take a little coaxing.”

“It’d be like fucking a mirror. Or watching ourselves in one.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“I never said I wasn’t, I was just saying it would be.”

“You should get to him before you explode and tear him to pieces. Can’t have you killing him until he donates.”

Condesce slid off the chair, putting the filled pail back into her sylladex. She didn’t move too far, dead set on watching this display. Hands pawed at his sides down to his thighs, once more static filled his head as he was forced down. Hip shrieking in protest, his mouth soon followed. His hands slammed down on his thighs and he leaned forward, trying futilely to relieve the pain of something too big in something too small.

One of his ancestor’s hands wrapped around Gamzee’s stomach and pushed him back against his chest. The hand didn’t move and he let his weight sag against it. He could feel every muscle in him spasm. He wasn’t aroused anymore, there wasn’t much more than pain, though he could vaguely feel the pleasure of the act.

His ancestor didn’t move to make him retake his weight. Gamzee’s hip was throbbing, sending fiery pain up his core, but that didn’t dissuade his ancestor in the slightest. The massive amount of flesh was still moving inside him. He focused on the pain, not on the way his ancestor and the Empress were still vaguely chatting about how good he felt. His elder shifted his hand and the bulge inside Gamzee began to move in and out of his already abused nook, each upward motion causing his whole body to move. A small laugh from the Empress cut into his focus. She had the rare talent of having the most obnoxious voice he ever heard. He noticed she was closer than before, her fingers pushing into his open mouth.

“Stop whining, it’ll feel good soon.” He hadn’t even noticed a high-pitched whine coming out of the top of his throat. He cracked his eyes open and tried to look at her like she was insane. There was no way this was going to feel good, he’d already orgasmed.

“He’s already loosening up again.”

“That’s fast.” The Empress looked slightly confused, her finger sliding over his tongue to play with the metal embedded in it. “Does my little grubby like having his nook full up?” That grub-talk thing should stop in situations like this. He was making noises already, she could think one was an answer to her question. “I think he does, how fun. Does this mean you’ll let me push whatever I want up into you?”

He made another set of noises, gasping as pain began to ebb into something else he didn’t want. His elder’s other hand grabbed onto his horn and, with a moderate amount of force, shoved him down. He almost screamed again, he could feel himself crying. though he couldn’t feel the tears on his face. Her thumb trailed along his cheeks, smearing the tears. Her smile was more evil than earlier, but Messiahs she looked pleased. That’s all he could try for, keep them happy.

“Would you like that?” she asked, her thumb and fingers pressing against his jaw. “Just having so much stuffed into your little nook we can see it through your skin.” He whined. No, he wouldn’t like that. Messiahs, he was hormonal, his body was just reacting. That didn’t mean anything, right? His body was evil anyway, it couldn’t be the judge of this. Though earlier felt wrong, this felt worse. This felt like death should just come in so he could clock out. This felt worse than the other, though he should know the Empress making him have sex with her was worse. It was one thing for this, it was supposed to hurt, that was something else entirely.

His thoughts trembled to a stop for a moment as the hand around his waist tensed, claws digging into his side. Though that hadn’t felt half as good as this felt. He tried to yank his head away from Condesce, just pressing claw into skin. Not enough to bleed but enough to punish himself for the thought that this felt good in any way.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was fucking some wanton little slut of a girl.” His ancestor’s voice was terrible on his ears. The Empress laughed. “Fuck, forget following in my footsteps. We have to go–” The sentence cut off for a moan that ached against his back. “To go back to the beginning, he can’t even be a boy properly.” Gamzee closed his eyes again and tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn’t want to enjoy this. He wanted it to just hurt.

“Well, if he likes things in his in his nook so badly.” The Empress’ iceberg fingers wrapped around his partially unsheathed bulge, drawing it the rest of the way out. He tried to pull away, only pressing his body closer to the bulge looping around inside of him. Her fingers were sliding over his bulge, still with a learned talent. “That would explain why he was so shit at being with a girl, he doesn’t know how to use his parts.” The Empress’ hand relocated the tip of his bulge against her palm. Her fingers pulled out from his mouth. His noises and harsh breathing, unrestricted, sounded too loud in the room.

“Are we about to teach him?” His ancestor’s words were broken up with pleasure and, Messiahs, he couldn’t shake any more. Heat was tearing through his core. A fire completely out of control, and he could do nothing to stop it from happening. Their words cutting into him - no. No, them using him like this cut into him. Every sensitive bit of him exposed, their words were salt, handfuls of it packing around his organs.

“’lease,” he whined, not sure how the word formed; it was rough, full of tattered edges.

“What is it, wigu? You want more?” The Empress’ eyes flashed with an easy-to-read cruelty, taking those tattered edges and tearing his pleas into unrecognizable trash. Her hand moved the tip of his bulge to his already too full nook.

“No, please, don’t. Please,” he whined. He could feel his elder’s shudder and watch a smile stretch on the Empress’ face.

“Oh, Gammy, we have to make sure you provide entertainment for us for sweeps to come. Even if we kill you, you can know that one day your grubs will end up right back here. See, they’re ours. It’s only fair we have them. I’m sure this makes sense, even to you.” He shoulders were shaking with sobs, and he didn’t know if it was from the pain or the mental image of a bastard grub made from this being forced to do the same thing later. “You’re the first to ever get this privilege. Long after you cease breathing, you’ll still provide us with entertainment.”

A finger slipped inside him and he didn’t know how he had any more room inside. His elder pushed him back against his core, her fingers pushing him wide enough she could direct his own bulge to push inside him. It felt wrong. He wanted to laugh at the thought, everything felt wrong. He shouldn’t be getting off to this, he shouldn’t be pailing with them, he shouldn’t moan when his bulge curled around his ancestor’s. The Empress laughed; it was more salt water rushing over him.

“God, he is a little girl about this, isn’t he?” the Empress asked and was replied to with a grunt. He closed his eyes, he tried to lock himself somewhere far away, lights creating pictures that looked just like her smile. He was shaking, pain fleeting away, and this was back to being an intimate thing. He wanted to hate himself, but he was running out of new things to hate about himself. His self-loathing peaking, he hated all of him. His thinkpan had given into this, his body was practically begging for more. Only a small bit of consciousness at the back of his head, and all that was focused on was hating every aspect of his existence.

He could hear both his and his ancestor’s noises linger around each other. Both sounding just as pleased by this. His body was rocking the slightest amount; he was still shaking, though he knew that was from sensation looping through him. The sane part of him wanted to be sick, but instead his muscles just tightened like a bow-string and a moment later he flooded his own insides. He leaned forward across his ancestor’s hand, still spasming from pleasure. The Empress was chuckling at his expense again.

His elder’s hands were tensing on his skin, reminding him it still wasn’t over. But by the way he was reacting it soon would be. The motions were getting desperate, and he was still panting, his body trembling with aftershocks. Claws nearly ripped into his sides when cold-warmth filled up each and every little gap and extra space inside of him. His elder’s breathing was erratic, the bulge in him pressing hard against the walls of his nook, nearly making him cry again.

Then, like that, the pressure was gone. He was so empty, so full, and his ancestor made no motion to pull out of him. His bulge was still caught coiled inside himself. He was shifted and now he did cry, he knew what was coming. It took two donations to make grubs, a black one and a red one, and this was his second. He felt the rim of metal between his thighs. His elder pulled out slowly, and every inch that removed from him brought the pail closer.

Despite his body’s natural inclinations to hold on to the fluid, right now he tried to push it out. Ruining most of their chances to have him provide them with torture-grubs. His elder just chuckled at his attempt. When the final inch pulled out of him the bucket was totally between his thighs. Other than the drip he couldn’t stop, he clamped his muscles tightly. He was crying now, still being held up, concentrating on keeping fluid he really wanted out of him inside him.

Condesce shifted, moving herself closer to him. A cold hand placed between his hip bones. Her hair brushed his nose, facefins stroking along his cheek and he could feel her breath as she spoke. “Do you like being full of his genetic fluid, Gammy?” He tried his best to stay silent, focusing on imagining her voice without the simplified words or the tone that he was a grub. “You can have more later, but now it’s time to give your contribution to society.” Her hand pressed on the area between his hips and moved down. He could feel his muscles trying to loosen their hold. He was going to be sick. He fought her hand’s motions.

“Come on, my little grub, don’t you want to make us proud? Give us other little toys to play with?” Her hand didn’t stop the motion and his body was relenting. He tried to climb a mountain without any legs. And his muscles gave in, relaxing, and the sound of genetic material on metal filled the room. His body was racked with sobs. “That’s a good boy.”

Before he could get the idea to knock over the pail, she had it recaptchalogued. His elder pulled him back to his lap. Gamzee was sobbing, and his elder traced the patterns of his tears along his cheek. A cold hand pressed against his chin again and he opened his eyes. That was what she wanted after all. The Empress had the other glass of water in her hand. He swallowed, trying to stop the hiccups from his tears. Despite everything he was thirsty all over again, and they could lock him up and not see him for another five days after this and by then he’d get desperate enough to drink the water he wasn’t supposed to drink.

“Want to make a deal, Gammy?” she said, once he’d calmed down enough to accept the water. He was drinking it down with speed again, though still not spilling a precious drop of it. He didn’t want to make a deal, but that was a rhetorical question. He’d be offered one anyway.

“You behave tonight, and we’ll give you fresh water and something to eat tomorrow.” Her voice was soft, caring, loving. His stomach twisted. He lowered the glass and looked at her.

“How do I behave?” His words were as rough as ever, gurgled from his torn up throat, and his lack of teeth making some letters impossible to pronounce.

“We have to make sure you’ll give us grubs, you’ll keep going until every last drop of genetic material is out of you.” He looked at her, a smile on her face. He could feel his elder’s smirk, and the hand that was sending static along his hip. He brought the glass up to his lips.


	28. Chapter 28

When he woke up there were two plastic bowls at the door of his cage, as promised. He crawled over to them, ignoring the grinding of his hip. The night before he had checked it out, it wasn’t dislocated. He didn’t know what was wrong with it, so he couldn’t fix it. He looked down at both of them; one was water, the other a dark-colored broth. Food and water received, he picked up both of them and moved them to the back of his cell.

He leaned against the back wall, just in case they came in and made this more horrible than it already was. They couldn’t easily get to him back there. A little safer, he lifted one of the bowls. His stomach was shaking in some type of joy at the thought of food, and he couldn’t look at anything but the vague reflection of himself in the liquid. He felt like a failure for his choice. He wanted to apologize to the ghosts for being so weak, if he was sure they wouldn’t hear any of it. He was trying to keep his wits about him and it was getting more and more difficult as time wore on.

His core was aching, he wasn’t sure how long it went on last night. He knew that they had to take a break partway between time three and four when he almost passed out. He got another glass of water and to listen to their talk while it settled into him. It wasn’t water, he reflected, still that strange water that wasn’t really water. He ate as slowly as he could, enjoying his reward for the night before. Though before he could take a drink he apologized to both Laneen and Sennir, for being a shit who couldn’t stand on his own.

He finished it faster than he would have liked and slid back to the bars of the cell. A stipulation of their deal had been when he was done he’d push them through the bars. Out of his reach. He did it; he would be good, he still had a choice to make. He could redeem the whore he was for food by somehow figuring out how to free his kin. He sat back on his mat. His mind reeled through everything he learned, trying to find something. Anything that would tell him how to break the binding. For how hard he crammed information into his head, nothing seemed helpful.

His mind briefly flashed back to the night before, his arms wrapping around himself the best they could. At part of it, he’d been forced to be the main actor in the sexual farce. The Empress demanding a show and him being turned to face his elder. Fever shuddered through him. He quickly tried to move his mind. Escape seemed impossible, he couldn’t find anything thin enough. Not without waiting for them, and that was looking like less and less of a possibility; another night like that and he’d probably die. His body would just give out from exhaustion.

He pulled himself into a ball, resting against the wall, hands keeping a tight hold on the his forearms. The wrappings keeping his wrist steady felt oddly rough against his fingers, though he could feel it was as dirty as the rest of his skin. The cut under his other fingers was scabbed, and he felt over each letter, knowing that his filth was getting into them. His hands were cleaner then they had been in a while. Last night they had been cleaned off. Only for a moment, as they had been pushed into the Hag’s nook as well as his own, to make sure all the genetic material was out of them. He traced the letters, getting angry at his own failure to protect himself, on top of agreeing to breed with them. He didn’t even want to extend the thought to all the pale claims from the night before.

He was bleeding, and he couldn’t mind it. The brand on his arm was hurting. But he had made it hurt. Before, he felt like he was under pressure. Now, he felt lighter, more like himself; though it wasn’t perfect, it was closer. He dug his claws into the wound. He was a bastard grub from a sick relationship. He made grubs from a just as sick one. He wondered if the pails would actually make it to the Mother Grub, though he had a creeping feeling that they would.

Would he still be alive when another purple or Tyrian grub came into their possession? It would probably be his, a warped twisted thing, made outside of quadrants, weaker, sickly, or mutated. Messiahs, he wondered if that was why he got cursed with the old abandoning goat. He cared for his lusus deeply, despite their problems. He was strong enough to survive the trial, but not strong enough for an actual lusus. He was disgusting since his mix had been made, at least now he reflected that.

His claws were pulling at the wound. He was about to make a choice. He stood on the precipice of indecision but only for a moment before he dived. His claws ripped into his skin; he tried not to change the brand in case it weakened his connection to his kin. Emptying out all those tears he couldn’t cry, he’d go to the Trap soon. He would be among friends, not locked up here. He’d apologize to his live ones when he found them in the darkness later. He’d tell them he wasn’t strong enough, he never was, and never would be.

He was surprised at how composed he was, he wasn’t crying, he wasn’t scared. Instead, he was calmly pressing claws past skin, blood feeling right on his hand. He was ready to face the darkness. He slowly said his own rites, even if it was futile. Reminding himself that grief came due and this was all he had left to mourn. A fresh cause for tears he wouldn’t shed until he was on the other side. The door to his cage slammed against the wall and he was roughly pulled forward. He remembered too late he was being watched. A hand wrapped tight around his bleeding forearm, his hand going numb quickly.

“Ah, ah, ah.” His elder’s voice wasn’t as harsh as it could be. “You lost that right.” Gamzee’s body was moved and forced outside the cage. He tried to make his bloodpusher give out. “You signed your body, your mind, and your soul over to me. You don’t get to choose when you’re tired out.” He was on the table, and suddenly cold hands wrapped around his ankles, pinning them down. “That’s mine to decide, and right now we have to get rid of temptation.” Metal pressed against the tips of his fingers. He lunged, afraid his fingers were going to be cut off joint by joint. He kicked, catching the Empress in the jaw. Free of both of them, his eyes opened and he scrambled off the table.

His feet hit the floor, and he attempted to bolt. He felt wild. Some naked prey animal running away from a predator. Even if it was futile and he was caught a moment later, his body harvested for food, for one moment, he was taking control of himself. His feet caught on the drain he’d been suspended above, eons ago when his teeth were removed. He stumbled, but managed to keep himself running, moving, bloodpumper spasming against sore ribs, but he was redirecting himself towards the door when his arm was grabbed.

He yanked it from their grip, not minding how it hurt his broken wrist. He wanted out, he wanted to see something other than this room. If he was going to die, he wanted a change of scenery at the very least. His ankle collided with something and he tumbled forward. His balance disrupted, he fell, his forehead smacking against concrete before he could throw out his arms to catch himself. He was swimming in his head, he fought to right his mind so he could get himself back up.

“That little cunt scratched my face.” The Empress sounded like death when she wasn’t cooing at him. He tried to pull himself up and get to running, but, faster than he had been prepared for, her weight was on his back. Her fingers coiled in his hair and she pulled his head back and slammed it against the floor. Pain shuddered against his skull and bloomed behind his eyes. He tried to move his head so his browbone would stop from slamming against the floor. She didn’t allow it, slamming him back down. His head was getting fuzzier, and his vision starting to darken at the edges.

“You little shit,” she was growling. Another shove forward and a sharp pain and a sick snapping noise let his vision give out. His head was free for only a moment and then it came back. His face feeling like it was burning for a fraction of a second, then it went numb from his temple to his jaw. He knew that was a very bad thing. “If this scars, I will fucking kill you.” He moved his head in her grasp as it came down on the floor again. His temple grinding against the concrete. Aware of every imperfection and piece that was loose as it imbedded against his skin.

“Slowly, in the most painf–” The Empress yelped. Her weight was yanked from his back; he barely registered the growl, low and dangerous, from his elder. Gamzee shifted the best he could, his head feeling too large for his body. He curled up, his nose bleeding, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. It didn’t hurt. There was another growl and he pulled his limbs tighter around himself, waiting for his elder’s hands to land on his body. He should have just slit his throat.

“You will not even think about killing him.” His elder’s voice was slow, even, but laced with terrible danger. There was a jingle of metal, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going on. He was still waiting to get hurt.

“But, love, he hurt me.”

“He’s been punished for it.” Another sound of clinking metal, faster. “You do not get to take his life. Nor does he. It’s mine.” The last word was spoken with force. Gamzee curled up tighter, trying to be so small he could vanish. He wanted to be invisible, he wanted to disappear, and never be heard from again.

“Love,” she implored. His ancestor growled again. She sighed. “Fine, he’s yours. No need to get crabby. What’s with you today?” Her feet were back on the ground, too close to him. He had a moment to understand that, before he was picked back up and slammed on the table again. His eyes clenched as tight as they could.

He tried to move and once again was held down. The metal was back against the tips of his fingers. He went cold, as he heard the slice before he tore through his final scream. His scream tapered off almost as soon as it started, the claw coming off with the very tip of his finger. He shook, trying to wrench his body away. The metal relocated to the next finger. This one wasn’t as haphazard. This time just the claw came off. It made a noise as it hit the table, and acid and bile gurgled in the back of his throat.

The action carried on until his body was shaking, he could feel nothing but burning. Every claw came off, either by itself or with the tip of his finger. He was trying to swallow down the pain and keep himself from thrashing. His other hand must have been treated in the same manner. He couldn’t feel pain anymore. The metal shears landed on the table, a terrible metallic noise, that only meant that that part of the pain was gone. His chin was grabbed and he was surprised when his head wasn’t jerked. Then he waited for a slap. When that didn’t come, his bloodpusher shuddered in his chest.

“Open your eyes.” He swallowed. He needed to be good. So he tried. The left side opened just fine. The right side made his whole face throb from even trying. He watched the hand approach, the muscles in his shoulders knotting up tight. If they were to relax he felt like his head would just pop off. His elder’s fingers pressed along his forehead and cheek, feeling around, making a whine that was more air then noise come out of Gamzee’s mouth. He knew the fingers tried to pull his eye open, and he could vaguely feel how much that hurt. “You broke it.”

“And?”

“Now I have to fix it.” His elder was pissed off. Gamzee could feel anger rolling off him, though he wasn’t directing it at him. At least he was pretty sure about that; his torso clenched for good measure, in case it would be directed at him.

“Sorry to put you out?” She sounded frustrated. “Don’t let yourself get soft _,_ ” she hissed.

“I’m not, I just would like to keep him alive longer than… this.” His elder moved away from his position by the table. Gamzee didn’t follow his movement, he would have but trying to relocate himself left his head feeling like it was tumbling down a flight of stairs.

“He’s given up, though. You know all they do after that is whine. I haven’t seen him smile in too long.”

It hit him; he was getting boring. To her, at least. His ancestor seemed dead set on him doing something. What that was was unknown and just as terrifying as knowing. Something cold was against his eye. He whimpered; he didn’t know why, he just did. He didn’t want them to kill him, that was one option he was trying to avoid. He didn’t want to give them that satisfaction, he would either try to escape or kill himself.

Messiahs, he was going to die. He was, honestly, going to wake up and not be able to escape the Trap ever again. He wasn’t going to see another friendly face while he breathed. He’d never get to see his friends smile again, never get ranted at, whined at, teased, held. He was never going to kiss another soul but his elder. He was never going to do anything other than take a last shuddering breath in a cell alone. Truly alone, no one alive to chat at, even if they were offline. No one to message him and act like they hated it. No hope of his lusus ever coming home. One night he would be sweating from fever, blood loss, or something similar. Struggling to breathe, his mutilated hands clutching onto cloth, trying to rip it apart as he clung to life. Crying out for help that would never come. Then he’d collapse, his bloodpumper slowing in his ears. His airsacs finally giving up, and he’d feel every part of himself shut down. Cold, pale, and dead.

He wanted to cry, but even the thought made the right side of his face pulse. He swallowed, his mouth tasting like blood and ash. Both of them still having a snippy little argument. He didn’t want to die. At all, period. Ever. He lifted a hand, and saw the bleeding tips of his finger and stumps of where his claws used to be; they’d grow back. Sooner than his teeth would at any rate. He pressed his hand against the cold compress over his eye. A breath later and he forced himself up to sitting. His moment of weakness aside, he chose to live. He would somehow catch himself from the downward spiral, he’d lift himself back up.

He had no idea how he would do anything like that. But he was surrendering to that choice, losing himself to it. The ragged rocks at the bottom of his earlier choice, he had missed. He landed in the water and right now was barely keeping his head above it. But he’d swim to the shore, and trek back up to where ever he needed to be. It would be a long difficult road, but it was his road. Disgusting, weak, and worthless he may be but … it was his life. They might have given it to him, but it was his to do with what he pleased.

He knew there would be an undertow in both of them, trying to pull him under and trying to drown him. He wasn’t much of a swimmer, in fact he couldn’t swim, but he would learn right now. He chose to live, and live his own life until he couldn’t anymore. Then he’d face the darkness, then he’d face his elder. Until then, he was going to find a way to enjoy what he had left. He swallowed again, he tried to clear his throat. He couldn’t truly live here. He took another breath, and it rattled through him as unsure as his movements. Their conversation slowed and then stopped.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, surprised his voice worked. Though it sounded weird, his words were understandable. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or myself. I won’t do it again. I was weak. I’m sorry.”

There was silence, it hung over him, heavy and as wrong as his words. He didn’t want to beg. But survival meant he had to. When he got back into his cell he was going to find some way of surviving and living. He watched both of them turn to look at each other. Their attention not on him, he reached over and palmed two of his cut claws. Nowhere else to put them, he’d have to hold them there until they locked him in again.

“What were you saying about him giving up?”

“I might have been wrong.” He had never heard the Empress sound so unsure. “Explain yourself,” she demanded, force back in her voice.

“I don’t know. I was just trying to fall asleep again, and then I was out here. I didn’t mean to hurt you, ma’am.”

“I guess that makes sense…” She still sounded lost.

He fought a smile. “What could I do to earn your forgiveness?” He bit his tongue after saying it. He didn’t need to be forgiven for anything, they were the ones who needed to ask him about forgiveness.

The Empress’ eyebrow shot up. “Pardon?” His elder’s face was a near mirror of her surprise.

“I just want to make both of you happy.” Gamzee let his voice shift softer, and more like he imagined he used to sound when he was three sweeps. Not obvious, they couldn’t know he was playing a game. “It’s all I want, I don’t mean to do things. I’m stupid, I know it. I’m trying, I just got scared. I don’t want to be hurt anymore. I want you both to be happy with me.” It had to sound like he wanted to make them happy, and maybe some part of him did. He wasn’t going to think about how he felt about the both of them. That would complicate right now, and all he needed was to know they were the enemy right now.

There was silence for a long moment. “I’m actually speechless,” Condesce said slowly. Another moment of silence for her to gather her thoughts passed. “Are you really asking?”

“Being honest, I thought I hated the both of you,” He needed a lie and it came easy, as if some part of him knew how to play them in the pit of his mind. “But I don’t, I know you’re doing this for my own good. I’m yours after all.” He looked at his elder, then down to the brand on his arm, still surprised by how easy it was. He was never one for games but he could play them, apparently. “For all eternity, I’m yours… And I just want to make you proud of me. It’s all I ever motherfucking wanted. If this is how I be making you proud then I’ll let you be having me however you want.”

Both of them were silent, staring at him. He knew that but didn’t look, his head held down in mock shame. Offering himself to them, but holding onto that small part of his head, the rational part. The part of him that knew that this was a game. A little more pain, and little planning, and he could beat them at it. He’d figure out how, he had to. He didn’t have much time. But he had his dreams, he had his own domain neither one of them could reach. Not without his permission, and he wasn’t about to grant it. Right now they were the enemy.

Though, no matter what part of him he consulted, he wasn’t fond of the worthless fuck everyone called the Empress. If she were to be deleted from the equation he’d be fine with that. He didn’t want to let himself smile as he realized the joke she really was. He had to give credit where credit was due, she could play a wicked game, and she could hurt him. But really she was a caricature of herself. Living so long she lost what it meant to be something real. Instead, she was a fake little doll who hoped one day to become a real girl. He stopped that train of thought before it moved over to his elder because that was even more of a complicated tangle, he didn’t want to try to unravel it right now.

He was pulled forward and he moved willingly with their ushering. He said he’d do anything, and he had to stand by it. A finger trailed along the back of the hand holding on to the cold compress, before wrapping around his hand and pulled it from him. He raised his head the slightest amount and looked at the Empress.

“Put your arms behind your back, and keep them there,” she said. He nodded, even if it made his head swim. He didn’t let go of the compress so it made sense for both of his fists to be balled up, and hopefully they wouldn’t find the remains of his claws in his hand. “You’re ours no matter what, right, wigu?” She was happy with him again, her voice matching her title once more. It didn’t sting as much as it had.

“Yes, ma’am.” His head was tilted forward. He wavered in the position, slowly gaining his center of balance back. “I’m yours.” Claws bit into the back of his neck. He knew they were his ancestor’s set, they were like talons. A weapon, not a decoration. They sliced through the flesh easily, and he gasped, clenching onto the claws in his hand, more wounds dotting up from them. His ancestor’s claws traced some type of pattern into his neck. It wasn’t mindless, he could tell, it was a design. He whimpered from pain, but submitted to it. They couldn’t fault him for reacting, as long as he didn’t lash out. All his limbs were suddenly filled with nervous energy.

Condesce’s claws were a little more blunt, but they traced over the pattern, or perhaps carved their own. He couldn’t tell, it all hurt. He swallowed; somehow his throat felt like it was working better than ever, maybe he was just getting used to this level of pain. Her claws moved down off his neck, hovering over his shoulder blades for a moment. Then they dug into the flesh, pulling at mostly-healed wounds. He hissed, but didn’t react beyond that. She pulled her claws away with a little noise and pushed his arms to his side. A moment for him to take a breath, and then cold sensation was back. The pain was in the same place, only it was sharper. That wasn’t claws, but cold steel. He pressed his chest forward, trying to avoid it. It was unconscious and he held his body where it reacted.

“If you’re ours, we get to label you appropriately.” He shuddered at the tone of her voice. He accepted the mark, closing his only working eye and trying not to press them tight. That hurt too much. He had no idea what she was carving into him, but it occupied the space halfway on one shoulder-blade to the halfway point on his other.

He could feel blood rolling down his back and he focused on letting it pass. This would pass, just like all the other torments before. The knife was off him, and he wondered what she carved. Ultimately, it didn’t matter, eventually it would fade. He opened his eye as she came to his front. It wasn’t a knife in her hand, but something smaller. Something he had seen from the med teams. No wonder the cuts had felt so deep.

He would have had time to figure out what was coming next, if it hadn’t blindsided him. He hit the table, his body on its side, his feet yanked out so his legs dangled off the edges. His ancestor’s claws dragged a pattern above his grubscar. He fought the urge to lunge, to kick, to fight against him. The Empress’ eyes were locked on his expression, reading for something. He wasn’t sure what.

His calf was grabbed, wrenching him closer when the claws pulled from his side. This time he didn’t scream when his elder shoved into him, in a much faster movement than ever before. This wasn’t meant to convince him of his desire. It was done to hurt, to claim. He fought a wave of nausea. The Empress moved closer, the scalpel brought into better view. She cocked her head to the side, looking at his skin. A smile ghosted over her lips, and she dragged the blade along skin, his shoulder and chest burning as she cut into him. He knew if he looked down he could see what she was carving. He didn’t want to, the smell of his own blood was enough to make his hand scratch at the table, his clipped fingertips and lack of claws be damned.

The Empress raised the scalpel off his skin and looked over the cuts, humor in her face. She then moved away, putting her hand on his ancestor’s arm. “Hush, love, we have all night.” Gamzee closed his eyes, he really didn’t want to see them in any form of romance while this was happening. Unfortunately, he couldn’t shove the claws, still curled safely in his hand, into his ears. He had to hear the most disgusting display of pale affection he could imagine.

At her behest his ancestor pulled out of him and moved him. His body was more on the table, but relocated to his stomach. The Empress curled her fingers around his horn and put her other hand under his chin. He shivered before he opened his eyes. His body felt cold, but he had to carry on. He could do this, he wasn’t as weak as they thought he was.

“You’re going to keep your eyes– eye, I guess, on mine,” she said softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

She pulled his head forward, his neck extending so his mouth could reach her. He swallowed and started without her telling him. He was wanting to make them happy and proud now. He couldn’t be ordered. His tongue pressed against the moist folds of her seedflap, easing her into the action. Her eyes briefly closed at the sensation, before they found his again.

He tried to make his eyes express gratefulness, joy, or something other than focus. It had to be perfectly acted for him to make them happy enough he would perhaps get a break. He would have begged for it, but they’d demand a price he wasn’t willing to pay. At least now, he knew his limits, and some of theirs. If he didn’t think they would kill him, he’d test a bit further and see what he could actually get away with. Her hands urged him forward, and he had to remember he had limbs to pull himself forward. His tongue worked against her, basically knowing how she liked it done.

“You know, love…” Her eyes moved off his and focused on his elder. “He still has two holes open.”

“I don’t mind the show.”

The Empress smiled. “Which one do you want?” she said slowly, her hands unwrapping themselves from his head. Her body pressing closer to him and the table. She was distracted and Gamzee took the moment to close his eye. Her hands slid along his back. Draping herself over him, hair sliding along his sides. “Should I tell him to split his legs and you can have a hole he hasn’t experienced yet?” Her hands were petting his lower back. Her claws dug into the meat of his flank then pulled up. He shuddered as her fingertips kneaded into the skin.

“Or do you want me to roll him over?” Her claws dragged along the skin to his hips. Not hard, too soft if anything. It made him shift and squirm, the skin prickling with over-sensation. “Let you fill him up.” He never wished so much that her thighs would press around his ears and he wouldn’t be forced to listen to this. “Let him be the pail he is.” Her claws dug into his hip. He yelped against her, the sound muffled by flesh. His ancestor’s hands were apparently the answer. They curled on his thighs and pulled his legs a little further apart. He braced himself, unsure of how to prepare for that.

Condesce shifted and pulled herself away from his mouth. He quickly opened his eye again, looking up at her, confused. With a jerk he was flipped back over, the light above the table blinding him temporarily. He blinked rapidly, trying to maintain her order. Chanting at himself, berating himself for every spare second it seemed to take.

“Gamzee,” He _hated_ his name. “Look at me.” He moved slowly, making it look like more of a struggle then it really was. Not that he thought how pathetic he looked would do anything to help him. If he acted more injured then he was they couldn’t fault him for tiny mistakes as harshly. He propped himself up on his elbows, the cut in his shoulder and bicep stinging.

“We were talking the other day…” His elder’s fingers slid up his thigh. “… about what I was going to do with you if you fucked up again.” They trailed up and over to his seedflap. He tried to not look nervous or scared. “I figure it would be good for you to know as well.” His middle finger slid into Gamzee’s nook; there was less resistance than the other times. Still, that claw against those inner walls only brought forth images of him being gutted.

There was a pause, before the finger hooked and the pad pressed up against the top. Gamzee wanted to bite his lip to stem the moan. He was supposed to act like he was enjoying this, but he didn’t really want to. His bulge shifted inside him, the internal sensation directly pressing against it. His ancestor’s finger massaging the spot with skilled precision. He closed his eye and could feel his head wanting to fall back. He resisted the urge, he wasn’t actually supposed to enjoy it. His elder’s fingers moved faster until his bulge had unsheathed itself. Gamzee battled with embarrassment that seemed totally out-of-place.

His elder’s finger pulled from him and wrapped around his bulge. He tensed, nervous and uncomfortable with the whole situation. More so than he had been before. He understood the nook abuse. That was humiliating, but this was all kinds of wrong. His ancestor’s thumb trailed over his nook, and he could feel his hips shift towards the sensation. It wasn’t supposed to actually feel good. They weren’t supposed to be so normal. They should have felt different, not like another troll. He could feel both shark-like smiles. Waiting for him to fall asleep on his life-raft.

“If you step too much out of line…” He could hear the laugh in his elder’s voice. “… I’m going to cut it off.” His elder’s hand squeezed. Gamzee made a noise somewhere between protest and a moan. “Then, I’ll invite members of the troupe to use the community pail.” The hand on his thigh pulled him down, his arms collapsing back on the table. His elder’s bulge lapping at his thigh, he shuddered. “After all, you enjoy it so much. We’ll send you off on deliveries.”

Gamzee closed his eye again, and tried not to react too horrendously to the words. “I won’t,” he tried, his voice faltering on every syllable. “I won’t be bad.” His elder’s claws dug into his thigh and pulled him down a little further, the tip pressing against his nook. The hand still rubbing against his bulge. “P-Promise.”

“Good.” His elder pulled his hand away and shoved in. Gamzee groaned, his abused core reaffirming it hurt. At least that’s what he’d tell himself, it had nothing to do with the sudden sensation. Nothing to do with enjoying this more than he should. He cursed himself silently in that rational part of his brain, and worked on behaving. Talons held onto him just behind his knee-joint. There was a shuffle and he knew it was the Empress.

It didn’t take long for his tongue to be back at work, her hands stroking along his chest. Her hips barely moving, but it didn’t matter. He knew what he was doing was pleasing. It wouldn’t be long and he could be curled up in his cage, and get to figuring out how he was going to go about surviving. Pain flashed through his hip, disrupting his concentration. It shouldn’t have happened, it was another cut. His ancestor was still holding his legs and Condesce was still trailing her claws down his chest, sliding them down his torso before moving back up.

He heard his elder’s laugh, though it was muffled by his lust and the Empress’ thighs. He would save the riddle of how he was cut for later when he could think about something other than getting it done. His tongue was aching, she wasn’t moving nearly enough, though her thighs fluctuated between tense and relaxed. He raised his hands very slowly, he mentally took a breath for preparation and wrapped them around her thighs. Arching up toward her. That was one way to prove he wanted them happy. Get active. She shuddered, wetness stroking an icy trail down his chest. Her hips moved more now, her thighs mostly tight around the side of his head. He tried not to wince as it pressed into his throbbing cheek. It wasn’t long before both of them got more erratic, and he thanked the Messiahs her thighs cut out just what they were saying.

Condesce’s claws dug into his chest and she shuddered. He could hear a slight curse before she pulled away. She looked upset, but he could see that predator gleam in her eye. His ancestor yanked him up. His back curved awkwardly and his weight rested on the new cut on his back. Now he had to focus on the bulge pulling in and out of him. He couldn’t say his noises were drowned out by flesh and mass. Instead he had to make sure every noise he made sounded something close to pleased.

The pace picked up and he closed his eye. His body heating up, he could faintly hear a noise from the Empress behind him over the shuddering beat of his bloodpusher. He shuddered when his ancestor came. He waited but wasn’t dropped onto the table; he looked at his ancestor with the hope he’d get clarification. Instead, he found him focused behind him. He followed his gaze and nearly threw up. The Empress was busy finishing herself off, her bulge slammed into her nook. He watched her shudder, her body falling forward, almost landing on him, before she caught herself. Her body shaking from the orgasm.

“Mmn, keep his hips up,” she said, her voice still thick with after-lust. His ancestor shifted Gamzee to one hand. He relocated his head so he didn’t have to watch her bulge pull out of herself. He swallowed, confused, and nervous. No doubt whatever would be coming would hurt, there was no reason for them to be this way if it weren’t part of something more. He closed his eye, his body feeling distinctly full and generally odd. When he opened his eye the Condesce was beside his elder, who was holding Gamzee’s leg up as if it were nothing. Her fingers wrapped around his bulge, her thumb massaging the sensitive underbumps. She kneaded him for a moment before she pushed the tip into him. That felt distinctly wrong, but her massage left his hips rolling against the sensation. He didn’t restrain his mouth, but clung tighter to the rational part of his mind. This was an act. Soon he was twitching, his bulge curling in his stretched out nook. He didn’t want to think about what it was curling in so he ignored in favor of electricity exploding over his skin, and how hard he could still tremble.

It took a moment for the soup of his thinkpan to reform into cognitive thought. He felt even fuller now, but it wasn’t an unknown sensation; it reminded him of the night before. He was catching his breath as his body was lowered just slightly. He shifted, wanting to push the fluid out of him; even if it wasn’t unknown it was weird, and he wasn’t sure if he could deal with it.

“You better keep those muscles tight,” his elder said, as if reading his mind. He might have been able to, Gamzee decided. Core pain or not he tensed, tightening the muscles until he was sure they were as tight as they would go. His eyes closed in concentration; he felt the tickle of hair on his stomach, and ice sliding along his leg.

“Hey, darling.” Condesce’s voice was less shaky. She snickered for a moment before continuing. “He comes premixed.” Her fingers pulled on Gamzee’s seedflap. He tensed, his body attempting to pull back and being caught by the hand still wrapped around his ankle. “Relax, Gammy.” He made a noise as he did. Just to affirm that he had obeyed. Before any of the genetic material could slide out of him, she pushed herself against him, ice mixing with cold-warmth and the excess running down his back. She held herself there for a moment, soft noises of pleasure passing over her lips.

She ordered him to tense up once more, and with much difficulty he did. He was too full. She pulled away, and his leg was dropped. He felt bloated, and he fought the urge to push the fluid out of him. He could hold on, even if only for a moment. At least he hoped so. He opened his eye and looked at the both of them. He tried to raise an eyebrow but that just made his nose felt like it was going to bleed again. The muscles of his core were spasming from the fight, and if he looked he could watch them. They said nothing, just watched him. It was getting too painful to hold in any more. He whined, trying to implore them to tell him to let it go. His ancestor was the first to laugh, followed by her shortly after.

“No, you don’t,” his ancestor chided. “You want to take on those roles, you take them on in full.”

He swallowed. “What?” His voice sounded as pained as he felt.

“You’re going to hold onto that, like the jadebloods used to have to.” The Empress patted the area between his hip bones. His need to push spiking, he overtightened his muscles in compensation, making himself feel even worse.

“I-I can’t. I’m not–”

“You like it, though, don’t you?” his ancestor said, raising an eyebrow. “Your nook being full.”

“Please, I can’t.” His hips were rolling, trying to push.

“Yes, you can.” The Empress had a smile playing on her lips. “Or do we need to plug you up?”

“Just please, please. It hurts.” Now, he could lower himself to begging. Condesce left his sight field.

“I don’t particularly care if it hurts.” His elder was watching him tremble and writhe with rapt facination. “It’s what you want after all.” His elder’s claw trailed along Gamzee’s jaw. “Let’s see, other than your obvious need to have your nook used. You’re emotional, and can’t get a handle on your outbursts. You haven’t really moved to fight. I don’t count one misguided attempt that you lost heart in, either. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the only thing that is missing is venom sacs. Which, with enough coercion to the right medtech, I could have implanted for you.”

“Please.”

“Did you know some jadebloods had to keep genetic fluid inside them for perigees?” his elder said absentmindedly, claws dragging over the area between Gamzee’s hipbones “Some trolls were so far from the Mother Grub it took a long time to get the delivery to the brooding caverns. On the bright side, we’ll start slow with you. You only have to hold it for a little bit.”

“Fuck, please, I can’t.” His muscles were already threatening to cave in.

“You might not have the proper bits, but we’ll train you to have them.” Condesce was back, something in her hand. “Lift him up just a bit, lovey.” His ancestor obliged, grabbing onto his leg once more, making the whole concoction sway inside him. He groaned; it wasn’t outright painful, it was dull pain. A dull pain he couldn’t easily ignore, it felt so foreign. She moved and he closed his eye. Whatever it was, it was cold, a mix of metal and hide. She pushed at his leg that was trying to block her access. Something freezing slid along the slit of his nook, and he worried she was going to fuck him. Something relatively small, but big enough, pushed inside him. He gasped, some of the fluid spilling down and rolling along his back. A sick mix of too cold warmed by his own core.

“You know, when we find your… Oh, what’s the word? Littermate? I think that’s it. We’ll have you switch.” Whatever was in him had a broad bottom. His hips twitched when it pressed forward. He was scared it would press inside him and rend him apart. “She’d be a better boy than you. She at least had the sense to run off when she knew her death was coming.” He whimpered, Condesce tapping the broad base of the thing, making him tremble. “You can relax,” she said softly. “We have to find the pink-blooded bitch first. Maybe we’ll take off her parts and give them to you.”

His elder laughed. “I don’t know if we would want to do that,” his elder said, lowering his body. Gamzee relaxed slowly, every muscle in his nook tensing and trying to push, but Condesce was still pressing on the base. A liquid whine bubbled out of his throat.

“Why?” She raised her eyebrow at him.

“Unless you want to pull the venom out of her, we don’t need two little fucks with that ability.”

“As if you would ever mind a little venom, my paleist.” She laughed. “Unless you’re thinking about my well-being.” She moved and strapped something over Gamzee’s thighs.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Make sure you stay okay and don’t go insane.” She snorted in laughter. “Or are you here to keep me from that?”

“Does it matter? Quadrants only mean so much. If they were the be-all and end-all no one would vacillate. And blurring the lines wouldn’t be so much fun.” She fixed her gaze onto what she was wrapping around his legs. “Love?”

“Yes?”

“No offense, but some subjugglators have had more than one head injury… They might not quite understand what to do with him. Perhaps we should make it easier on them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m looking at all this unmarked skin, and I see room for a label of convenience.” Her hand patted between Gamzee’s hips. He whined again, his muscles pushing, trying to expel everything from him and spectacularly failing. Her fingers slid over the area. “Do you see what I mean?”

“I do.”  
  
“Would you mind labeling him for me?”

“You sure we shouldn’t carve that into his neck too?” He shifted, his hand itching to come up to his throat as if that could defend it.

“That could kill him, and we have to at least keep him alive long enough to hold this.” His elder nodded. The Empress pushed the palm of her hand against the base of the thing inside him. His elder’s claws licked at the flesh. “Watch, Gammy.” He didn’t want to bend at the waist. Or move. It made him feel like he was going to throw up the genetic material that was nowhere near that organ system. Still, he lifted his head and watched letters form. K–E–T. He closed his eye and the carving stopped. “Watch, wigu.” That was more an order then the helpful suggestion from earlier. His ancestor finished the E he had closed his eyes on. The S and the K were traced quickly into his skin. He was still bleeding when she sealed the thing, with a lock, over his hips and thighs.

Condesce pulled him to sitting; he whined, the fluid and whatever was keeping him from being able to push it out shifting inside him. His muscles spasming, desperately trying to push both out. He was panting, he could feel a sweat forming on his brow, and he wanted to yell at his body’s reactions; that was wasting precious water.

“Can you lock yourself back up, or do you need me to hold your hand?” she asked, offering him her hand.

“Do you want to walk me back?” He asked slowly, his voice strained. “If you do, I will. If you don’t, I can get back there.” No matter what he’d be walking, which was going to be a task. Her fingers curled around his and pulled.

“Come on, wigu, it’s time for bed.” Her fingers tensed around his. He slid off the table, his hip still grinding when he took a step. The thing in him pressing oddly against his nook. His muscles spasmed and protested each movement, but he took all the steps required for him to get back in the cage. He still wasn’t crawling, he focused on that thought. No matter how he hurt, he would walk. She released his hand before he walked into the room.

She looked at him for a moment, and vaguely behind her he could see his ancestor smirking. He stood where she left him, the hide against the cut on his torso already making it itch. He shifted uncomfortable. She smiled and took a step forward and pressed her lips against his forehead.

“If you keep being this good, you might get to sleep with one of us.” He immediately blanked his face of emotion so she wouldn’t see the disgust at that prospect. “Have good dreams, wigu.” She released him and he tentatively took a step back towards his cell. When he wasn’t yelled at or stopped he took the rest of the steps back. When she didn’t move to close the door, he lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around the bars, pulling it closed. She smiled and turned, walking back to his ancestor, who was still looking at him, and if his eye didn’t hurt so much he might have been able to make out his expression. Her hand curled around his, and they walked towards the door, his elder looking back at him briefly.

“Nighty-night,” she said. The lights turned off, and he was left in the dark.

Something painful stabbed into his pumper, snaking up towards his brain. Painful, something foreign. He realized what it was almost immediately. It made anger rip across his skin, he kept himself from growling. Wrath like electricity hovered for a moment before grounding against the push. He wouldn’t be touched by whatever the fuck his ancestor’s psychic powers were. His dreams were his, and right now the only place he was safe.

He swallowed and hobbled over to the mat, still mentally forcing the push away. Eventually it would fade, and right now it gave him something else to concentrate on. He stood, stooped over his mat, for a long moment, trying to figure out how to lie down without jostling the thing that made his muscles thrum too much. He would have bitten his lip, but he still didn’t have enough teeth to make that entirely possible. Slowly he moved, his back against the wall, pressing into cuts. He had to take priority, and he could handle sharp pain. The dull throbbing was going to get to him. It could be ignored, but it was always there, and it would make sleep difficult.

He managed to get himself lying down, fidgeting with his legs. Unable to find any way remotely comfortable, he left them in a position and hoped for the best. He pulled back the edge of the mat and picked the claws that were embedded into his flesh, shoving them by his horn fragments. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep; the sooner he slept the sooner this would be over. His core’s constant tics and the way his nook walls were tightening over the thing plugging him up. He took a breath, trying to will his body to relax and accept this. It had seemed so small, and now it ached and seemed so much bigger. Perhaps it expanded as time went on.

He didn’t quite understand what they were going on about. There was no enjoyment in this, it hurt. Whether he had any other enjoyment he was happy to chalk up to the fact he was hormonal. These were the key sweeps in his life when he should be filling quadrants and meeting with the drones. He couldn’t fault himself for a biological thing.

He groaned, his muscles trying to push again, and he wished he could just get hold of them. Tell them to just accept this. This odd feeling of fullness, it didn’t feel entirely right, but it didn’t feel entirely wrong either. He moved his hand down and played with the lock, trying to see if he could perhaps dislodge it, then chalked that up to the list of dumb ideas. Even if he got it unlocked, he was told to hold it in until morning. If he didn’t that wouldn’t end nicely for him. Not that he had much choice in the matter right now.

This put a big stick in his plans to figure out what he was going to do. Moving his lower half was painful and he wouldn’t do it more than necessary. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing, and the itching from the word carved above it. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, but eventually he got fed up with it and ran one of his fingers, with a tip, over the mysterious cut on his hip.

He felt over the letters, sure that each cut was a label they were willing to give to him. Hashaan. He hissed, growling a little, and half tempted to dig his fingers into the cut and try to pull it so it was unreadable. Though those kind of actions were what got him into this mess in the first place. He could feel his bloodbeat in his seedflap, and he tried to shift so he couldn’t feel it anymore. That just made the whole situation more uncomfortable.

He had to get his mind away from dull pain, away from their labels. His fingers flitted over his chest and shoulder and found “muvetir” ripped into his flesh. He would have cried, but it wouldn’t help and just wasted water. He shoved his arm down to his side; he had to think of something else. Escape was really his only option. Unless this meant he could out-wait them.

He whispered Sennir’s name into the darkness. He didn’t even know if the ghosts could hear him. He wanted to know how he managed to hide a knife to get it into the cell. The room stayed quiet, the dripping of the water more soothing than annoying. It meant he was alone, hopefully not totally. His hand moved down to what they had wrapped around him, trying to reach the thing inside him and dislodge it a little. His nook walls were aching and pounding. Unable to move it, he stopped playing with it. That was the last thing he needed for them to see.

His chewed-up fingers ran along his side, just above his grubscar. He felt tears prick at his eyes. They were just as sore as his core was. He didn’t recognize the verb form, but he got the idea. Jisituni-Rorut. Their pet, their toy. Their worthless little fucking girl, he thanked the Messiahs it was him and not Feferi. He wiped away the tears and, with a quick swipe of his tongue, saved the water. He murmured Sennir’s name again. Softly, so hopefully they couldn’t hear it. Maybe if he prayed, his dreams would take him back to the Trap and he could ask Sennir how he did it. Maybe he’d also ask how the fuck he was supposed to navigate a ship with a shaky mental map, while completely naked. Messiahs, all of this was futile.

He wanted to scream, but he had done that plenty and it hadn’t helped. He was out of self-comfort options. Unless… He shamefully raised his hand to the back of his neck, his fingers stinging as he pressed into tight muscles, trying to soothe himself into relaxing. His core spasmed, and he just cleared his mind, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.

He didn’t want to think about how both his bloodlinks went against Alternian law and submitted moirail mating material. Condesce, apparently, was above all that. Or maybe that was all she could do to spite her throne, he didn’t know and wouldn’t ask. He didn’t want to think about what each of the brands on his skin meant. Let alone the design on the back of his neck; now that he was feeling it he realized he had been branded as a slave. Though he’d been given no formal notice, and anyway those laws were defunct. So he guessed it really didn’t matter.

He didn’t want to think about the thing in him that was forcing him to store genetic material like he had a gutbucket. He didn’t want to think any more on all the claims that he was more feminine. If he wanted to do something completely stupid, he’d disobey the role set forth to him from hatching by embracing that. He wasn’t that stupid…

He liked some things that were more feminine, sure. Who didn’t like to create every once in a while? Eridan and Tavros FLARPed, and Vriska designed machines. But that didn’t change them acting their appropriate way. Nepeta was one of the best hunters he knew, though he wasn’t sure if that counted. His hobbies hadn’t been much one way or the other, though his penchant for cooking might have gotten him in a bit of trouble. He just liked eating well, that couldn’t be something they blamed him for. His lusus wasn’t around so he improvised, he didn’t like the way meat just tossed in the hull tasted. So what.

He wasn’t overly emotional, they had just been putting him in pain. They couldn’t fault him for reacting. And maybe he wasn’t over- or under-sensitive, though right now his nook felt oversensitive and he was pretty sure if he had it in him he’d be whining into the darkness over it. Even if that was the case, shit like that didn’t really matter. It was kind of like blood, they weren’t supposed to do anything different, it was just how it looked. His nerves didn’t make him disobedient. If he had been given a proper opportunity, not just the courting dance to see if he’d play games, he was sure he could have proved that wrong.

Probably.

There was a fifty-percent chance that he would have proved that wrong. He didn’t like the idea of culling any troll over nothing, he didn’t like the idea of having to choose a patron spirit. The one he wanted was off-limits, but he could have settled on another. He felt his stomach tense and he felt like he needed to throw up. Hypothetically, they could be right. Not that they were, plus that was ridiculous. It wasn’t like being a female was weak or anything. He respected each and every sister he had, they could hold their own. They might have just been saying it because it would stick in his thinkpan.

Or maybe it was from their fucked up relationship. Moirail grubs were usually mutants, and wouldn’t that count? Unless it was something they did. He never pailed anyone before this. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Maybe however you first did it flipped a switch or something. Being honest with himself, he’d been too doped to do much of anything related before hand. There was the occasional time when he got his touch on, but it wasn’t like he did it with any frequency. It could have been something the sopor did to him too, as he thought through it. Maybe it just messed with his nerves and made them all stupid like it rotted through his thinkpan.

He wanted to stop thinking about this, but the only other topic was his ancestor and the Empress’ relationship. He wondered if he should call both of them his ancestors. The thought made his skin bug out and he chose to skip over it. He needed to clear his mind, he needed to find his kin, he needed to ask a million questions, or just be told it was going to be okay. He breathed deeply, muscles spasming and aching, and he called for Sennir. He kept his mind occupied with the thought of all the skeletons that had been in that nightmare. Which of his kin was slaughtered for him to be a sacrifice, because despite his elder’s claims against it, he knew it happened.

Occasionally, he called for the kin he knew the names of, hoping for a shift in the room, or a voice in his head. Neither came to pass before darkness consumed him; he wasn’t even aware he fell asleep. He dreamed of beaches, of salt water, of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fovos' Alternian Dictionary:  
>  _Ketesk_ (n.) pail. pl. keteskij  
>  _Hashaan_ (n.) a friendly or known beast. pl. Hashannij  
>  _Muvetir_ (n.) 1. one who offers 2. derogatory: slut (slang)  
>  _Jisituni-Rorut_ (Obsolete) see Jisituni and Rorut  
>  _Jisituni_ (v.) to force someone into a one sided kismesitude.  
>  _Rorut_ (n.) toy, puppet, or trinket. pl. Rorutij


	29. Chapter 29

When he woke up the lights were on; he hadn’t woken up when they turned on. His nook was humming with pain, and even shifting his legs the slightest amount nearly made him wail. If he had thought it painful the night before, it was nothing compared to when he woke up. He couldn’t even sit up without making noise and his breathing turning into a ragged mess. His hand gripped the lock and pulled. He needed it out.

The lock whined, and he tugged again, the metal making a strange noise before he yanked again. The metal snapped, and he moved to hook his fingers under the hide, before a very slow clapping echoed around the room and into his cage. He would have shifted to see who it was, but that would have hurt.

“Finally using your predispositions, I see.” His elder’s voice. He shuddered. “Come on, we’ll empty you out, you’ve held it long enough.” Gamzee felt like it had been in him for sweeps, and he didn’t want to be happy at the thought of him getting approval for this. Actually he wasn’t happy, he was thrilled. Until the fact he had to move to get out of the cage hit him over his swollen eye.

“Come out, wigu.” He shook, trying to move his body to the side, or bend at the waist to pull himself up off the floor. Standing up had never required so much effort before. He pulled himself onto all fours, his nook was stinging and protesting every move of his legs. He crawled forward a step than gritted his teeth. No.

He slid his hand over to the wall, angling his body so he could stand. It took too much time, but they could wait. Anyway, if they were getting too impatient they would say something. He stood up, both of his legs shaking. His hip felt like it was broken, though a quick swipe over it with scabbed-up fingers told him it wasn’t. Still, he limped over to the bars. He held onto them and looked at his elder.

“You gonna unlock me, or you gonna hand me the motherfuckin’ key?” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop himself. He had a brief moment of panic and fear, then his elder laughed. It unnerved him.

“You wish. But I’m glad you’re talking again. I didn’t think I would miss it as much as I have.”

“I’m sure I won’t be talkin’ much longer,” he mumbled.

“No, soon you’ll be singing. It’s going to hurt to pull that out given with how long it’s been in you.” His elder shifted to stand up.

“Then I won’t be talking after either.”

“I hope you do,” Condesce chimed in. “Maybe if you were a little more vocal we could see about making you a bit more comfortable.”

“Unless you’re going to be letting me sleep outside this cage, I don’t think I’ll be comfortable.” There were a bunch of other things that would make him a lot more comfortable as well. A shower, a full stomach, water when he wanted it, for them to have both their hands cut off. There were a lot more things that would make him feel better.

“If you keep being good, we’ll see about that, Gammy.” He could feel his eye narrow. “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the floor tonight?” He closed his eye so she wouldn’t see him roll his eyes. “Maybe if you cheered up a bit, we wouldn’t be so harsh on you.”

“Is that all you be wanting me to motherfucking do?” He glanced at the Empress, trying to hide his anger. She shrugged with a little nod. “Then maybe you should unlock this motherfucking door already.” His elder laughed and the Empress looked a little taken back.

“He got your smart-ass mouth.”

“He got your penchant for profanity.”

“Would it really cheer you up to be let out and romp for a while?” His elder asked, keys swinging along his finger.

“Sir, you don’t want me to be saying what would cheer me up. It wouldn’t make you any kinds of happy, so I’ll be shutting my mouth about it.”

“Now, I’m curious.” His ancestor’s hand rested above the bars. “Promise you won’t get hurt for saying.” Gamzee narrowed his eyes, looking up at his ancestor, wondering if that was a legitimate promise or just something he was saying to allow for more pain later.

“Stop playing games with my head. That would cheer me up, just tell me what you want. You don’t have to shoulder me into it, just say.”

“How many times to I have to tell you? We’ve told you what we want.” The keys jingled in his hands and shoved into the lock.

“Pull this thing out, let me get this out, and leave my nook alone for a bit. That would cheer me up,” he said softly.

“Does it hurt that badly?” the Empress asked. Her voice was full of concern and he wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

“Imagine someone inflated a motherfucking balloon in your bulge, then ask me if it is hurting or ain’t.” Condesce gave him a small smile, walking closer.

“Anything else that would cheer you up?”

He had a whole list he would have loved to give her. He still had to pretend he was trying to make them happy. That this was going to become something that he’d give into. “Somewhere else to sleep, food, water, a chance to heal up a little bit. That’s all I want.”

“Deal.” His ancestor swung open the cage door and pulled Gamzee along with it. He blinked at his elder. “You keep on this path, we can see about rewarding you.” Claws scratched under his chin. He thought back to the beginning and decided that his ancestor needed to make up his mind if fighting or behaving would give him “rewards”. Given what he said, if he fought he’d be punished, but maybe praised. That cleared everything up.

His ancestor lifted him, making the whole concoction inside of him move around. He hissed, trying to keep it low; he couldn’t show too much weakness. Despite the swaying motion from every step it was better than having to walk then slightly jump to get his ass on the table.

It hurt to sit like this, but it was how he was left, so he’d stay. He fidgeted his legs, keeping them spread but trying to make his muscles hurt less. The final bits of the thing over his legs were pulled off, pulling at the scabs on the carving. They tore but didn’t bleed too much. His elder spit on to his fingers, before sliding them along hypersensitive nerves. Gamzee’s fingers gripped at the table; his elder already said it would hurt. Just touching the outside was sending sharp pain through him.

“Relax.” He tried, but with the first gentle tug he whined. He almost wanted it to be ripped out of him, he knew his ancestor could get the force to do it. Though that could easily tear out most of his nook, at least that’s what it felt like. His elder’s free hand wrapped around Gamzee’s back, his thumb holding onto his side. “Relax,” he whispered again.

The thing in him jostled and felt like it was going to require a cut to get out of him. He shivered, his body feeling both hot and cold at the same time. He pressed back against the hand holding him up, his body trembling as the thing in him dislodged from sore muscles.

“There we are,” his elder said, the thing in him finally removed. Gamzee choked back a scream and his nook walls trembled and he couldn’t stop himself from pushing. His breathing was ragged and a cold sweat was spreading over his skin. The fluid didn’t land in a pail, and that he could be thankful for. It stained his thighs, the floor, the edge of the table. But nothing more would come from this.

He looked down between his legs, still panting and shaking from pain. The mix was mostly purple, he didn’t know why he thought it might turn any other color. Though it looked more like the violet of seadwellers. His body pushed again, even though he was pretty sure everything was out of him. It still felt like there was something inside of him.

He slumped back against his elder’s hand, trying to catch his breath. He felt opened up, gutted via his nook, the internal muscles still rolling, trying to get imagined fluid out of him. His elder’s hand tensed, moving his body forward. He whimpered, he didn’t really have the energy to hold himself up. He wanted to sleep, to actually sleep. Whatever he did the day before didn’t quite count.

“He’s still so sad.” Her fingers trailed along his face. “I thought he said it would cheer him up.”

“Don’t be too disappointed. He said he wanted to heal up as well. We’ll give him a night to heal up a bit, then he’ll be a bit more chipper.” He wanted to thank them or praise the Messiahs. A night to heal up. He shouldn’t want to thank them, they really only had themselves to blame when it came to him being unable. His elder picked him up again; Gamzee cracked open his eyes, the right one throbbing but sort of usable. He couldn’t see all that well out of it, and he hoped he wasn’t blind because of it.

His ancestor’s free hand brushed down the hair on the back of his head. His ancestor shifted him, forcing him to basically sit on his forearms, which made a lot more sense as he set him on the raised platform next to the chairs.

“Now, I’m not going to chain you. Stay and keep your wits about you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gamzee fidgeted and watched, and what happened next was scarred into his mind. Like a crash or a battle, it was so bad he couldn’t look away, though everything in him implored him to do so. He got a break from the physical torture, that hadn’t been a lie. Instead, he was forced into the mental torture of watching what would theoretically be his littermates be made.

Well, at least he wasn’t being involved, he thought with quite a bit of strain. He forced his mind to another universe, the one with the salt water and oceans, the one that made him look like he was there, but he really wasn’t. The noises and words pushed into his fantasy every once and awhile, and he had to force the sound of waves to clean over his ears.

He never wanted to find out how he was brought to the Mother Grub, let alone watch it and agree to sit through the whole thing. Even worse were all their very blatant sugar-pale sweet nothings being thrown around. It was more obvious than ever that they didn’t flip red. Never once had, and probably never would. They were those weird trolls who pailed in the pale, claiming it to be better than the any of the concupiscent quadrants. At least certain viral videos that stayed up made sense now, even if moirail mating could get you culled by the drones.

The Empress and in turn her barkbeast were above that. They were above the petty laws of all the other trolls. They could do as they pleased. He could be paraded around all of the Empire, the cut on his arm fresh and available for all to see, his hair yanked up so every troll could see their signs branded on his skin. No one would say anything. The Empress could have whatever she wanted.

He brought his mind back momentarily to watch her grind against his ancestor. He blinked rapidly a few times, he could smell blood, and it wasn’t from him. She was hissing at him, and he closed his eyes long enough to usher his mind away. He realized he was shaking. He wasn’t aware when it started or if he had been doing it since he woke up. He opened his eyes, letting them blur on the scene in front of him.

Every muscle in him hurt. He wasn’t sure if it was from the beatings, sleeping on the floor, or the fact he was trembling. He tried to recall the last time he noticed it, but the days and nights blurred together, circling around him like a demented ride. He curled his arms around him, mostly unwilling to point out any particular scene to himself.

He caught himself moving, more than shaking. He tensed his muscles to stop the motion. That made his muscles shake more but at least he wasn’t rocking back and forth. How long had he been doing that, he wondered what his body was getting away with when he wasn’t paying attention. Her voice was trilling over his thoughts, rough and panting. The melody over the endless beat of his bloodpusher, a low hum warped in his mind, told him that they were both enjoying themselves.

He couldn’t stop shaking, his tongue running over chapped and cracked lips. He didn’t honestly know how he was still alive. He swallowed, just realizing how hurt he was. How much soreness he could feel and still be alive. How alone he could feel before he really just wanted to talk to the both of them. Even if what he had to do for any type of interaction was disgusting. The rational part of his mind told him he was going crazy, and he was going to agree with it.

There was a cold hand on his cheek and he nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes focused up to the Empress. “You were somewhere else, darling.” She didn’t sound angry. Her hand rested on his cheek and he felt himself tense his neck to not push towards it. “You were supposed to keep your head here.”

“I-I…” Should he even apologize for this? Probably. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, you always are. Love…” She turned and looked at his ancestor. Gamzee’s eyes followed and he only then noticed the blood.

“Yes?”

“How much trouble should he be in?”

“Well, how angry are you about it?”

“I’m more disappointed than angry.”

His ancestor shrugged. “Welcome to the club.” She stuck out her tongue. “As long as he understands that he is a disappointment it’s not new behavior, just one he’s having problems unlearning.”

She turned her head back to him, her hair brushing over his legs. “Do you understand that you were supposed to be paying attention?” He nodded. “Well? Do you have anything to say in your defense?” The rational part of his brain got suddenly irrational, hissing threats from the back of his mind. He swallowed; he had nothing to say. She waited for a moment for him to find something to say. All he could find was threats he couldn’t make happen. Alright, the one where he shoved his broken horn into her eye-socket was feasible, but then he’d have his ancestor to contend with.

“I’ll…” he started, wondering what it is he would do. “… accept whatever punishment… I didn’t follow the rules.” That rational part of him was growling, pacing angrily in a cage. Spitting threats. He tried to act calm but the rage in him was simmering. He hadn’t been told outright, it was unfair to punish him for not realizing that’s what “keep your wits” meant. Then again this whole situation was unfair, and as soon as he could he would remedy it. Her hand slid down his neck and landed on his shoulder, pushing him back. He tightened his muscles, refusing to move.

“You said any punishment, Gamzee.”

“No, you promised.” He scooted back, putting weight on his hurt arm enough that the pain ripped through the rational part of his mind like gasoline on a fire. “You weren’t clear, you don’t get to make me. I was not knowing, you can’t make me.”

“I am not going to hurt you,” she hissed at him.

“No,” he growled. “No. You– You don’t get to even get me on my back. I behaved as long as it was clear. You can’t play these motherfucking games again. You clearly said it was a deal, you don’t get to put me in a position to make that deal go away. Not without giving me a fighting chance.” She took a step towards him, his body still moving back, like it wasn’t rapidly running out of space to move.

“Get over here.”

“No.” His head throbbed, the rational part of him slipping out between the bars and coming out through his growl. Deep, feral, a noise he never heard himself make before. A tingle shivered up his body to the top of his head. The Empress stopped her advance, her eyes widening. He dropped his chin, his muscles tensing; the rage, the anger, the rational part of him held, tearing out through him like raw power. He curled his lip, growling again. Thoughts came in simple bursts. Ready to approach her. She was weak right now. He could tear out her throat with his fingers. It would be easy.

His neck was grabbed and he was slammed back into the wall, breaking his concentration, and the power evaporated. That rational part of him was swimming in a muddy haze. His eyes met his elder’s and he realized he messed up somewhere. His elder was torn between smiling and growling.

“Did he just–”

“Yes,” his elder cut her off before she could finish the thought. “Don’t worry, he’s exhausted himself. He won’t be doing it again.”

“You’re going to have to pick up the dosage until he’s under control.”

His elder released him slowly. “Now, you have broken the rules and the deal. You behave and we’ll see about you getting it back.” Gamzee wanted to protest but that would just get him slammed back until he was hurt enough to be docile. He nodded.

Condesce approached him, muttering under her breath. She grabbed onto his ankle and pulled him until his back was on the ground. “Now, I’m angry at you,” she said. “Now you have to do more than you would have. I should have had him carve that into your neck.” He closed his eyes as she approached him, her shins over his biceps so he couldn’t push her away. “Open your mouth,” she said, before her thighs blocked off his ears. He focused on a sluggish headache, until swallowing became priority.

He gagged at first, before he got a handle on what she wanted him to do. He ignored the taste and swallowed down the bitter mix, hoping he’d gain his privileges back. He wasn’t even sure what he did. He just knew it made them unhappy so he had to remedy it. Her muscles tightened and stopped the flow, and he was almost sure he could hear a muffled conversation being had. He swallowed dryly a few times. She relaxed her muscles once more and he went back to work.

Suddenly, he felt a shiver on his sides. Her finger flitted over skin and he gagged as he began to laugh. Her hands moved up, grazing at skin that had never been touched, making him kick his legs and try to do too much with his throat at one time. She pulled her hips up.

“You must be enjoying this, you’re laughing.” Her finger stroked down his now-hypersensitive sides before rushing back up, nearly digging into his armpit, and he couldn’t help jerking up trying to free himself of the sensation, his legs flailing blindly. “This is more like it, a smile suits your face.”

Her legs still kept his arms pinned. Her hands were skimming along his skin, inciting nerves that hadn’t been touched that gently in what seemed like ages. Slowly, she pulled away from him. He tried to curl to roll himself away, get away from her hands. That proved of little use as she pinned his shoulders, her hair brushing along his sides. Through tears he understood now how she cut him without her hands.

She was sitting on his thighs, her hair basically attacking every patch of skin, and he was laughing, hyperventilating, coughing, and sobbing. He tried to push her off, but her hands pressed down on his shoulders.

“Don’t you think he looks better like this, lovey?” He tried to whine. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t get words through laughter. Her hair stroking along his arches made him cry out again. “A smile on his face, laughing, happy he is where he was meant to be all along?”

He was kicking blindly, unable to escape her psychically controlled onslaught. He tried to pull his arms up so he could push her away, but the hands holding onto his chest kept him from getting enough leverage to make it happen. He bucked, flailed, and could feel sore muscles screaming at him. His stomach feeling like it was about to cave in. His sides burning in the unnatural sensation of laughing for so long. If he thought his muscles ached before, this was sharper, more apparent. His body was contorting trying to escape, he was quickly running out of ability to breathe.

“Shall we immortalize the moment?” His elder’s voice was above him, and if he could see through tears he would have been looking right at him. Her hair slid along over-reactive nerves in the back of his knees. He would have been screaming if he had the air.

“Just don’t ruin his cute little face,” she said laughing, just slightly, along with him. Her nails rapidly stroked the side of his neck before she went back to holding him down. His neck squirmed, his back arched, trying to be free. That just let her hair get the part of his sides he had been defending. He kicked blindly, breathing hard, sobbing laughter. Trying to ask them to stop, he’d cheer up. He hated this more than anything else. It was like when they’d use him only he had to laugh. Both of them ended up with him crying, desperately trying to breathe.

He then realized; the skin on one’s face is tight. He never thought about how skin covered muscles and bones on his cheeks. But the skin and muscles snapped back, like a bow-string. Though instead of firing an arrow, it just caused pain. No, it wasn’t pain, it was beyond pain. He would have been screaming if he still wasn’t partially laughing.

He couldn’t tell if his eyes were shut, but he was watching sparks shoot across his vision. Then there was something that felt like sawing, back and forth. Back and forth along the snapped bow-string of disfigurement. All of him was burning. His nerves overloaded, all of his senses expanded and pushed outward, then shut down to a singularity.

There was blood in his mouth, it was running down to his neck and into his ears. He was choking on it, trying to spit it out so he could breathe, but his mouth wouldn’t work that way. There were flaps of skin and muscle against his gums, like wet fabric slapping against his stubs of teeth and tongue. It sounded just like that as it tore. Or maybe was being cut. He couldn’t tell, he was freezing, he didn’t know where he was anymore, there was only pain and cold. He wondered if he was drowning again. He couldn’t feel his bloodbeat, he was dead. He couldn’t find his body connected to him, though he knew he was trembling. He was screaming. He was drowning. He was laughing. Wet fabric was tearing along his face.

Then he was left without anything. It was silent. His vision was whited out, gone. He was dead this time. Whatever he was moved, and there was blood everywhere. It was staining the floor, his hands. He had hands. They were so pale, such a funny color compared to all the blood. They almost matched the floor. He could be a chameleon and blend in now. He brought a hand up to his face. That’s where there had been hurt.

He couldn’t feel it, he could just feel bones and the wetness of blood. He was like Sennir, except both sides were torn away and he was nothing but a skull. He was shaking violently, he wanted to scream but he couldn’t work his mouth. It was gone.

He felt pressure in his throat and he wasn’t sure what it was from. He was dead. Did ghosts even feel pressure? Something was touching his back and he wanted to make a noise, but he couldn’t. He was mute. His hands were still groping blindly at where his face had once been. He found one of his eyes. His hands were so cold.

His body, or spirit he guessed, was forced down, against the floor. The purple was so pretty out of him, he liked it better there. Being dead didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. But he didn’t want to be dead. His living friends would be forced through this. Didn’t he have friends? He wasn’t sure anymore. Something told him he did; he didn’t like the way it sounded, but it did sound sure he had friends who would be tortured if he didn’t get his blood off the floor.

He needed the blood back in him. How was he going to do that? He moved his hand to open his skull and ran his tongue along the floor. He swore he could hear someone laugh around him, but he couldn’t be sure. The trap was too light now where it had been too dark before. He fumbled uselessly with his tongue, holding what had once been his mouth open. He needed to get his blood back inside him.

He felt hot, then cold, then he couldn’t hold his body anymore. Everything went dark.

It was a peaceful dark. He didn’t hurt here. Briefly, there was a lot of light and noise that sounded like words, garbled over something broken. Then it went back to dark. He could hear a bloodbeat in the distance and he wasn’t sure if it was his. He couldn’t find his hands to bring them up to his neck.

The darkness wasn’t quiet, it was full of static and occasional beeps that seemed random. He felt like he spent eternity there before another flash of light and the quickest blur of color that terrified him, for some reason, shook him back to comforting static. He was reminded of a story after a while, from back in his schoolfeeding days, about a young troll who never paid attention and soon found himself drowning. Somehow that made sense for him to remember, he liked the droning static better than that story.

Sometimes he heard voices in the darkness, voices that didn’t scare him, but he couldn’t make sense of the noise. Other times he heard voices that scared him, they made him try to move, but he was trapped in that one place.

He grew lonely in the darkness after eons of being alone. He had friends, he knew he did. That was why he had to get the blood back inside. He called for them, guessing at names. A flash of blue and yellow that whispered at him, though their words came out of their mouths he couldn’t assign any meaning to them. They could have been communicating in symbols for all he would have understood.

He found a mirror trapped in a cage that reflected a broken version of him, distorted to be longer, smaller. Hair torn out in places, wounds he didn’t realize he ever had bleeding. He could count every one of his ribs. The mirror version of him followed along, until it tore away to howl in agony and rage that scared him as much as the other voices. Bloodlust he recognized, from somewhere, in his eyes.

He tried to leave, but couldn’t. The mirror version of him hissed in a language he could understand. He told him he’d give him as many beaches as he could ever want. That he would keep him safe. All he had to do was open the cage. His shredded hand clutched at the bars. _Open the cage._

He didn’t like that him, that him wanted to decorate their darkness in colors he only ever saw inside other trolls. He cooed so softly, he begged him so sweetly, he thought over it. Whimpering in the darkness, he was so lonely. His fingers pressed into the cage and the mirror version of himself held his hands rubbing each one of his fingers. It told him he cared for him, he’d keep him safe. He’d make sure nothing ever hurt him again. He was crying, he wanted to be held.

Fingers without claws and parts of their tips rubbed over his wrists, telling him gently of how he’d protect him. How they would get away, how their bones weren’t meant to be pulled apart like they were. There was a light from somewhere; it bathed then in green but slowly turned to match the blood dripping to the bottom of the cage. He whimpered, trying to speak in words that he could understand, the mirror just smiles. Teeth gone but somehow still menacing. He told the mirror he wanted to be held.

He understood and he opened the cage. There wasn’t a smile or pain. He was just pulled into bruised and ripped-up arms. Drawn close so he couldn’t be let go. Their bones grinding against each other. The mangy version of him pulling through his hair. Letting him cry, whispering sweet thoughts of pain for those that sentenced them to darkness. Coating him in blood, their shared blood.

He wanted to go home. He cried. He pulled himself closer, cradling himself tight. Muttered reassurances they’d go home, he just had to unlock the cage. He tried to tell himself he already had, but he realized he put himself in it. He pushed closer to the other body. Their bones mashing together, skin not mattering. Skeletal fingers without tips or claws, but the wounds healing, were brushing tears from his face.

He got cold and pushed closer, their bodies tangling up like they’d never be separated again. He needed to get the cage unlocked. Something tugged at his core, and he just pulled closer. His agony finally shared with someone. Their fingers curled around each other’s, their palms refusing to separate. Soon he didn’t know where he began or ended, or where the mirror finished or what it reflected. He didn’t mind, here he felt something. Light flashed around the room, it blinked in and out a few times. Everything too white, too colorless, plain and boring. He pulled himself closer. Telling him to unlock the cage.

They whispered to each other, as they stitched themselves together. They told each other all their secrets. They smiled and laughed, they screamed and cried. Something new flooding his veins, warm, powerful, and dark. His fingers wrapped around the cage. He wanted out, he had the ability now to open the door. He shoved it forward, metal clanging, though the static blurred it out. He did it again, and again, and again. Until the door swung open. He was free.

The room was light, filled with artificial light that nearly blinded him; something was in his arm, and he moved to pull it out. He didn’t need that. His hand couldn’t get far enough to reach it. Metal crashed against more metal. He opened his eyes and made them adjust to light. He was on a gurney, his hands and legs chained. He turned his head, looking at the needle in his arm; a line of purple circled around the room and led up to his ancestor’s arm. He looked enthralled with whatever he was reading.

At least it wasn’t drugs. He didn’t need drugs anymore. He didn’t feel anything anymore that needed medicating. Actually, he didn’t think he needed much of anything anymore. Just freedom. He was tired of being in cages. He could get out of cages now. No, he didn’t need much more than that. But these chains were meant for highbloods and all their strength. He had to behave, keep himself, hold his wits, be good and be let back to doors with locks and keys. Those he could get out of.

He could move his mouth again. He could see, he lifted up his head and looked down to his hand. The wounds were healed, his claws were more ragged; they had been growing while he was away. He swallowed, his tongue swiping over his gums, and he could feel the slight press from fangs growing back. He didn’t smile. They’d be too happy about that. One doesn’t make one’s enemy happy.

“Love! He’s finally awake.” He fought the reaction of growling at her voice. His ancestor looked at him, and they met each other’s gaze. His ancestor smiled; Gamzee pulled his lips into a frown, the best he could. They didn’t seem to be working right with him. His tongue slid along his teeth again; he couldn’t feel half of them. All the back ones were completely devoid of feeling. Well, if he couldn’t get free at least he wouldn’t feel them grinding his new teeth down.

“Look who finally decided to come back.” His elder’s voice was steady. “Can you talk?” He actually sounded the smallest bit worried. Another fun thing to do; instead of tugging at his hair when he would get stressed, he’d just shove his ragged claws against his chirpbox and ruin it so he could never talk.

“I don’t know.” He said it softly, the sounds coming out just fine but slurred and stumbled over even more than when he lost his teeth. “Guess so.”

“When that finishes healing you can’t deny us your smile anymore,” the Hag said, at his other side. He turned his head and pulled at the chains on his wrists again. He wanted to feel his face and see how much was there. He could feel something like stitches, but colder, on the inside of his cheeks. “He,” she said, nodding at his ancestor, “had to cull one of the best medtechs on this ship to keep you alive for it, you’d better not disappoint. We’ve missed you.” Her fingers pulled at the cuffs, and when one hand was free he made sure he kept it at his side until she finished. If he started moving he might try clawing a smile into her face.

She moved back, and he pulled his hands up to his cheeks, sitting up with the motion. An orderly line of something metal was holding both of his cheeks together. He tested his jaw tentatively; they had some give, enough he was sure his mouth opened more than it ever did before. A quick test later and he confirmed it. At least they were predictable.

“Now that you’re not at risk of dying or infection, why don’t you thank him for being so kind as to get you medical treatment?” His gaze roamed over to her Hagship, then to his Keeper, then back to her. He was either psychic or he was getting better at guessing their game. He’d forgo going through perdition again, and just do it. Then to cages, without eyes, and with escape.

He reached down and pulled at the shackles on his feet, his ancestor’s eyes following his movement. Free from his physical bindings, he pulled himself off the gurney and dropped down to the floor. When he was a good boy, he’d be very, very good. He was sure if they saw him being bad it would end in bloodshed. He looked at the needle in his arm, still literally linking them by blood. He realized he had his blood inside him. He shivered in disgust.

He slowly grabbed it and pulled it out of his arm. Letting it drip on his finger, the indigo sliding down the tip, down towards his palm, he watched it with fascination. The Hag took a breath, and his elder raised a hand to silence her. He was being watched as he rubbed the blood between his thumb and his forefinger. Another drop fell on the back of his finger and he curved his hand so he could watch it slide along the skin.

His ancestor chuckled as Gamzee played with the drips, never feeling as fascinated as he did now. He held the needle in his hand, feeling each and every drip that meant a beat pool in his palm. He raised a finger to his bottom lip. It was smoother now, not as chapped. He slid it along the center of his lip, down towards his chin. Before thought gripped him to what he was actually supposed to be doing, his tongue cleaned the blood that marred his thumb.

He shifted on the floor, moving the needle from one hand to the other. Holding it between his third and fourth finger, dipping the tips of his fingers into the small puddle of blood in his palm. They slid as much along his tongue as they did his chin and neck.

If they were bound, it would work both ways. His mentor, his Keeper, his ancestor, the only motherfucking troll that would ever haunt him. The puddle of blood on his palm ended up more in his mouth. He woke up dead tonight. He wasn’t sure what happened, but whatever had happened, inside his mind knocked something loose and replaced it with something new.

Even if his elder didn’t fully understand, which he could have understood perfectly, it didn’t matter much. He wasn’t stopping it. He knew it would hurt if he understood. It meant they were one. He would drag him down with him, they’d go down together bound. Time and eternity was a long time. He slept for eons, and he could feel how it warped him. One day when blood wasn’t dripping so lightly on his skin he’d think more on the poetry of all of this. But now, right then, he would never make it better. It would always hurt. He would remember this moment and it would burn like every fiber of his being ached.

He pulled the needle and all its beautiful ability away from himself. His elder grabbed his hand and almost stabbed him in the lip as his body didn’t immediately relax in the touch. Instead, it was put in his mouth. He pulled it from his arm and held it above his head. He closed his eyes and cringed internally at the metal taste as he drank until the tube was empty.

He survived ruin, only to receive communion. He could work with that. Once the tube was empty, his bloodlink pulled it from his lips. Gamzee’s hands were still shaking but they didn’t fumble with the fastenings on his pants. He didn’t outwardly cringe when he pulled the mostly unsheathed bulge from his pants. He closed his eyes as he slid his tongue along the flesh.

Worship for worship’s sake at this point. It was better if they didn’t notice it was a ruse. He had better impulse control than that. He didn’t flinch when the tip slid along his lips. He just opened his mouth wider and kept his tongue out of his mouth. He didn’t gag when it pressed to the back of his throat, his hands wrapping around the base. He couldn’t practically fit all of it in his mouth.

“Relax.” His ancestor’s voice was heavy with heat. He forced his body to relax and almost laughed that he had to focus on relaxing. The tip pressed at the back of his throat, he could feel himself about to gag. The motion stopped for a moment, then pressed again, another gag. It was a slow and steady progression of pressing, gagging, pulling back, then repeating the motion. Then a press happened and he wasn’t overwhelmed with the need to eject the organ from his mouth.

His cheeks weren’t stretching yet, and he was starting to get curious how far he could actually take it now. His jaw popped with a particular shove forward and he held his mouth open in the new position, his fingers kneading against the base. His elder moaned before he managed the breath to murmur at Gamzee to swallow. His tongue clicked in his throat, and he almost gagged again. Another series of repeated motions as he swallowed along the tip. His bloodlink gripped at his horn, nearly dragging him closer, though for some reason he was being very patient.

The bulge pushed into his throat a moment after a swallow and he quickly realized he wouldn’t be breathing. His ancestor’s hand tensed on his horn, the other grabbing on to the broken one, holding his head steady. He swallowed again, taking more down, the ridges on the underside feeling peculiar going down his throat. It would hurt coming back up, but that was alright; he didn’t think he’d be eating anytime soon.

“Again.” The command was full of air, passion, and force. He swallowed again, his mouth starting to stretch. His fingers slid along the length, seeing how much there still was. Another swallow and he was as far as his “stitches” would allow. The bulge wriggled in his throat, moving in a tightness it was unaccustomed to, he could tell by the reaction from him. The way his hands were gripping at him, making sure he didn’t move.

He opened his eyes; there was still a fair amount not in his mouth, but that was why he had hands. He slid his hand over to his elder’s thigh, pawing at it. He needed to breathe. His ancestor’s eyes met his, and he smiled. The smallest, most controlling smile Gamzee had ever had directed at him. He allowed him to breathe; it didn’t so much hurt as it made his throat feel oddly empty. He took a few breaths and opened his mouth again, this time it went much faster. A hand slid down his horn, petting at his scalp, he opened his eyes again and the bulge thrust. He gagged, despite all the relaxation he recently trained into himself.

He could watch every muscle in his ancestor tense at the motion, and he tried it again, the things keeping his mouth closed pinching into his skin. He swallowed again, taking down another fraction of length. It was negligible, but his bloodlink seemed pleased regardless. His grip was tight on his horns. He kept swallowing, making him shudder.

He didn’t honestly know what was so weak about this situation. He was basically on his knees, that was a little humiliating. But there was power in the act. He could control what his ancestor felt. Sure, he could move, but he couldn’t force him to make it feel good. He might not have had teeth but enough pressure from any part of his mouth anatomy would be enough to hurt. He wasn’t in full control, but he had power here.

He might have had that, but his eyes were still watering and his jaw still was aching. Tears just made his ancestor shudder and thrust forward. He needed to breathe again, he pulled his head back gently, keeping his gaze as locked on his elder’s as he could. His elder pulled back long enough for him to breathe once, and then he was breathless again, trying to reclaim any dominance in the act. He allowed it, it wasn’t any good to fight on his knees.

The bulge squirming in his throat was quickly gotten used to. His hands manipulated the flesh with fumbling skill. He couldn’t exactly smile when he felt that desperation, how his bulge seemed bigger. Luckily, his face reflected his present emotion. He worked faster, barely breathing, letting tears from the strain roll down his cheeks. His eyes still locked on his ancestor’s expressions.

With a shudder and something between a growl and a moan, he had to start swallowing. Quickly, no matter how bitter the thought it was precious energy, something he’d need. He elder held Gamzee’s head still for a long moment, the organ feeling like it was thrashing in his throat. Then it pulled from his lips, covered in saliva, connecting them by thin slightly purple strands. He kept his mouth open for a moment after, his tongue still pushed out of his mouth, before he clicked the metal against the stubs of his teeth. It had so much more movement now. His elder was smirking at him, and he knew he had pleased. Which meant he’d be left alone tonight. He closed his mouth, his cheeks not working like he remembered, but at least now he could swallow.

He was picked up, once everything was covered back up, and walked through the hall to the crossroads of doors and let back into their torture room. He was put back outside his cell. He noticed the room was much cleaner. They were worried about him getting an infection. How sweet. He glanced over to the purple stain on the floor, violent, but slightly faded. A testimony of his survival.

“You need your rest.” He nodded. “Sleep well.” He turned and walked into the cage. The door closed, his elder walking back towards the door. His hand raised to shut off the lights.

“Sir,” he said, his voice more unsure with injury then his actual mission. His ancestor turned; he could feel that raised eyebrow from here. “You too.”

“What?”

“Sleep well. I’ll see you in the evening.” He let his eyes track, like he was embarrassed at saying it. The edge of his look-ability picked up the faintest of smiles.

“See you then, little clown.” The lights shut off and the door closed. He was mostly alone. Now, he smiled to the best of his cheeks’ abilities. He would have laughed but the sound would draw their attention. He looked up at the wall above the cell door. Pitch black or not, he understood.

He lifted his hands and traced the lines, the symbols all seemingly random. But no, no, he understood now, it sunk into his thinkpan like a hot knife into flesh. The knowledge rocked through his body, he whispered along with it. It was a map.


	30. Chapter 30

> _I’m sorry if you’re reading this. I’m sorry you’re here, and I’m sorry you’re alone, but you aren’t really. We’re all here with you. I know how they are, I think it’s been ten nights, but it’s probably been more. I can’t make you trust me, but I’m carving this with one of my stolen claws. They clipped them off, when I tried to fight back. My advice: Read the walls, do what they say. I don’t know what more I can give you. They’ll make you choose, they’ll make you do, don’t fight it… Just do it. I know it sucks to hear but that’s what you gotta do._  
>   
>  _Don’t let them break you. I know this sucks, and I’m sorry. But you’ll have to make the hardest decisions of your life in this room. You wouldn’t think choosing between being killed, escaping, or killing yourself would be hard but it is. We haven’t met and one day we will but until then good luck. See you on the crossroads, past the judgment, I’ll save you a place in line so we can ride together._  
>  Gamzee Makara, 90ls, 10 of their days alive.

He shoved the mat over his note, throwing his used claw into the tray; at the very least the next unfortunate motherfucker might see it and not drink the water. He clutched onto the fragments of his broken horn. He moved over to the door, bending awkwardly, his arms outside the cage. He shoved the extra claw into the lock, then forced the pieces of his horn in. He hoped they didn’t break. He hoped that he could figure this out.

He could feel the way it was meant to move; he pressed his horn deeper, messing with the mechanism. This door, like his chains, were meant to keep the strongest of bluebloods contained. He had to get the door unlocked, and if Sennir could do it so could he.

His lips moved in whispered prayer that the door would open before the lights turned on. That no eyes were watching him work. His arms were starting to burn from the difficulty of the angle. He cursed and called every spirit he knew that might be able to help to his side. He jostled the piece of his horn. Something clicked; he tried pressing on the door. No give, but that might mean he was a step ahead.

He had to be the smallest bit thankful it wasn’t a computerized lock. He had no skills in hacking and would have been quickly found out. Another click. He tried, the door didn’t budge. He growled at the lock, knowing he couldn’t frighten it into submission, but still trying. He tried turning the lock, wondering if that would help. It just made him worry his horn fragment was going to break. He stopped and kept pressing around in the inside of the lock.

He growled again, and swore the room dropped in temperature to a polar level of cold. He swore the bars were rattling. He must have been hallucinating again. It wouldn’t have surprised him in the slightest. He pressed his broken horn deeper into the lock. He wanted his freedom, he was in ruin, falling apart at the seams. If the door didn’t open he could always use the bits and shove them into his eye. It was good to have a back-up plan.

The bars rattled harder; the noise would have been enough to wake the dead, if they weren’t the ones doing it. Assuming he wasn’t just hearing things. Click, click, click. Like a wheel of fate the lock turned. It could have been armed with an alarm, it could send them in here with no time to kill himself before he was prostrated in front of them again. He held his breath.

The door opened, loose, like a hilarious parody of what it was supposed to be. He almost laughed, but that was extra noise. He held the door open with his foot, grabbing the cloth and shoving it in so the door couldn’t shut and lock again. He quickly ran his hands over the map one more time.

 _Out, up, left, left, right, left, down-stairs, second right, left, right, right, right, down, left, right, right, left, stairs, left.._. That was as far as the map got, after that there were a lot of questions as to where he was supposed to go. But he was a purple blood on this ship, and with the right amount of luck they might think him a brother. He could have plenty of luck, he prayed for it and if anyone deserved it right now, he did. The cage wasn’t as cold anymore. Outside of it was.

He stood outside in the room with all the lights off, alone. Alone and free in it for the first time. He touched the cabinet next to the cage. Each drawer was locked. He pulled up his mental map of the area, he’d stared at it long enough to know its layout without the lights. He ran over to another cabinet and pulled at the doors and drawers. No give and he didn’t have time to pick the locks. He needed a weapon, just in case someone came in. If he was going to run around the ship he wasn’t exactly alone. He might have to kill a few trolls.

He ripped at drawers, pulling at them fast, too fast to be completely silent. He ran around the room looking for one thing to defend himself with, he needed something unlocked. He prayed, and the next drawer he touched slid open. He smiled, he knew his smile was now too wide to look normal. His mouth medically manipulated to work for someone other than him. There were clamps (he didn’t want those), a few other things that with touch alone he couldn’t name (one area felt like a series of medical tools, but he didn’t linger too long with touching them), and two beautiful semi-sharp knives.

He yanked them out of the drawer and walked toward the table; the door was about five running steps from it. He held his breath and listened. There were no footsteps, there was no ringing, nothing. Silence of sleep, of careless dreams, where they thought he was still locked up. If he was suicidal he would have found where both of them slept and slit their throats. But that was too dangerous. Not on their home turf. Too close to being locked up again. Too close to being touched again. He gagged at the thought of being touched again, pulling one of the knives up to his lip.

He could always leave a message for them.

He slid it across the thin skin, not deep, but oh Messiahs how it bled. Bubbling out of his mouth and down his chin. His smile widened. He could imagine its color in his mind. He slid his fingers along it and drew. Nothing the Hag would understand, only his Keeper. He didn’t care about her, only him and the message this would send. The crossroads, his trap, and where they would meet again. His final fuck you. If he was caught he wouldn’t breathe long enough for them to care what they did with his corpse. He was so very tired of cages.

He dropped one knife. He only needed one. Then they might think him unarmed, weak, fragile, easy to get back. A hidden weapon. He heard a whisper on the nonexistent breeze. He lifted his head to listen. It fluttered around his ears, and he understood. It was time to leave, time to start his climb back up craggy rocks. Every soul, every kin he had and hadn’t met was behind him. Clutching onto his corpse. It was getting too crowded in the room. They wanted to leave, get their own freedom. They would all follow him, he was their leader, their hope. He pointed the knife towards the door, marching forward, the breeze following behind.

The low-lights were on in the hallway, he could see. It took him a moment to let his eyes adjust to the change. He closed the door behind him. Nothing to indicate he ever moved. He walked forward and turned left. Looking at the four doors. One of these lead to pain, another to death, another to entrapment, and the final one to freedom. The one on the up and on the left was supposedly freedom. Doubt landed in his thudding bloodpusher. They could have made the map to get any escapees into their arms. They could have planted any of it. A shiver slid down his back, he didn’t have time to doubt any longer. Death or death. He steeped forward, turning and grabbing onto the handle sliding it open to a dully lit room, just as dark as the hallway.

It smelled like rot, blood, death, and gore. It smelled like home, it smelled like freedom. He took a few quick steps in and closed the door behind him. The door latching, and a click sounded behind him. He wanted to laugh, he couldn’t get scared now. He couldn’t crawl back into his cage. He was free or dead. He took a few steps forward, and he couldn’t stop the laugh passing out of his lips. He covered his mouth, fast enough to stifle it.

Well, he fashioned himself a king. It was only fitting he had a throne. He looked around the walls. The floor of the torture room crawled up to the ceiling. Blood so old it lost its color, blood in a color he’d never seen before. He would have stopped to admire the whole picture, but right now he had something more important to tend to. He could look while he walked.

He walked along the outlined path to the exit. His eyes slid around the room; he wondered if any poor soul in his cage with him painted these walls or just the floor. Which ones were victims and who deserved their death. Maybe, in a way, they were all both. A victim of deserving their death. Or maybe they were all victims. He reached out a hand and touched the next door.

He hoped it wasn’t locked, and was going to laugh about ease when the door opened. He couldn’t get cocky, he still had a ship full of motherfuckers who fashioned his Keeper a prophet. He might have to take down legions of trolls far older than him. Ones that were better armed. Ones that fought for order and mirth. He had nothing to fight for, perhaps a change of scenery in his death. But truly nothing. Though a fucker without anything to fight for has nothing to lose.

The cold followed him all the way out to a much brighter hallway. One that reeked of pomp, ceremony, and the fragments of use. It must have been day, this part of the ship was abandoned. He recalled his map. Left. He jogged through the hall, and when that one ended he took another left. The knife in his hand was sliding around in his grip from sweat.

He switched the hand it was in and wiped it on his side. It just smeared black on his skin. He realized he was running through the hallways naked. Every brand on him obvious. Everything suspicious about his nature. He cursed. He looked at the doors he went by. They weren’t labeled, there could have been anything behind them.

He stood at the next T-intersection. He had to take a right but he needed something to cover himself. He whispered at the cold. It felt like it was circling around him, before it dispersed. He went right, they knew where to find him. They were kin after all. He took the next left, then nearly jumped down the stairs. The cold encircled him, and he listened for a whisper on the breeze. He couldn’t make anything out as he skidded into the next hallway.

“If we get caught–”

 _“_ No one is out here this time of day. Be a little more adventurous, this is gonna be fun.” He cursed and ducked behind an outcropping around a door. He clutched the knife tightly in his hand. He knew this would be a possibility. There was no such thing as alone on an Alternian ship. He hoped he could take on both of them. He didn’t catch a glance at size. But he would definitely have the element of surprise.

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to go out on a date.” They were getting closer. He held his breath. Corpses didn’t need air, and he needed silence. His bloodpusher was thumping against his ribs.

“What, did you want me to eat with you at mess? Or maybe sit next to you during ceremony? This is a little more fun.” A boy and a girl.

“Can we just stop here, and I can show you something else?” They were about to pass. He imagined himself as dark as the shadows. He didn’t need to be found, not until he could attack.

“That’s a fun little idea.” Recruits. They passed and paused. “But come on, wait for that when we get there. It’s a story to tell.”

“I guess, seems like a good way to get ourselves killed. I don’t really feel like dying with my pants down.” He crept forward. The boy first, he would be physically stronger and he was taller. Just slit his little throat.

“Come on,” the boy was goading her. Poking at her ribs. “He has to sleep.” If they were thinking of the same he, he did sleep. He should be right now, or he would be rampaging through the halls looking for his little fuckpuppet of a sacrifice. Really, he’d be doing them a service by being the one to kill them. It was one of the Makaras that was going to do it. At least he’d do it fast.

“I don’t think he’s not a troll. It just seems like a good way to end up dead. That’s not how I want the Dyenejar to find out about me.” They were thinking about the same him. A universal kindness, granted from his blade. Kill them fast, or faster than his ancestor would. He stalked forward, his feet not even shuffling on the floor. He raised his hand, another slow step forward, then he lunged.

The knife slid between vertebrae; the boy had time for a final gasp, his ability to breathe severed at the neck. Gamzee’s other hand clasped over her mouth. He could feel her scream. The boy slumped to the floor, blood bubbling out of his mouth; he shoved with the knife, sliding him off the blade, the purple pooling around their feet. She tried struggling; she was scared, terrified, her bloodpusher working fast, screaming at her to survive. He clamped his hand down tighter, moving the knife to her throat.

“Listen, sister.” His voice was low, growled next to her ear. She stilled, tense as a wire about to snap, but she was listening. “I’m half fucking crazy and a whole lotta desperate, so if you wanna get out of here and not end up like your friend, you’ll shut up and hand me your clothes, sylladex, and specibus.”

She struggled again, almost freeing herself one too many times. Each beat of her pumper was another second they were closer to finding him gone. He had her pinned against the wall, but she wasn’t screaming. Her teeth were gritted, almost growling through the sneer. She was looking at him with a mix of fear and disdain and a whole lot of disgust.

“Fuck you, freak.” She headbutted him, making him stagger back, vision swimming before refocusing. She pulled out two batons with a twirl; both were burning.

“You know…” He wasn’t too fazed. Fire throwers were showy. “I’m doing you and him a favor. The Dyenejar is going to be motherfucking pissed off when he wakes up.”

She laughed, and energy skittered along his skin. He smiled, he wasn’t that tired. “How the fuck would you know?”

He laughed, focusing on her fears, creeping deep into her heart. Sliding away from every twirl of her batons. “You should just trust me on that, sister.”

“Don’t call me sister!” She growled. “I don’t know what or who you are, but you are not of the troupe.” He laughed again. “You know, killing an infidel is just the way I wanted to be noticed.” She charged him swinging the batons in a pattern that would have been beautiful if he wasn’t dodging it. He missed his clubs, but the knife would have to do.

“You’d be doing no motherfucking service to him by killing me. It’d just piss him the motherfuck off, he’d motherfucking notice you once, twice, then maybe a few more times.” This was making too much noise and wasting time. He flowed his anger towards her fear; it was slow as he dodged each of her strikes. Somewhere he was laughing, because everything he knew about killing he learned from his Keeper. Maybe it was out loud, or maybe internal. He wasn’t too sure.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She was panting. The hallway was partially scorched, but he remained relatively unharmed. He probably had a few burns, but he didn’t think he could feel pain anymore. He toyed with the knife. Look unfazed, let her fears eat her alive.

“Nothing that really concerns you. You’re just a troll in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He lunged, dodging the baton poised to strike him in the neck. “You see, we’re all motherfucking victims at the end of the night.” He slid the knife along her wrist, cutting deep enough that she dropped one of them. The other singed his arm, and he smiled. “All of us are toys.” Her eyes widened. “All little pieces of a game meant to keep the immortal entertained.” He wrapped his hand around the flame, cutting it off from air, extinguishing the flame. A tingle went up his arm. No more pain, only pleasure. “Then when we die, they play a whole new game.” She backed up, fear plastered on her features. “Now, give them to me, before I just kill you.”

She still had hope. Hope she could run away. He wanted to snuff it out like he just did with the baton. Wrap his fingers around her neck and watch it drain out of her features. See her clinging desperately to life. There was no hope, he learned that lesson the hard way. Her hands shook as she pulled off her clothes, and dropped what he asked into his burnt hand. She tried to look innocent, to smile at him, to placate him. She opened her mouth and she’d tell him she was sorry for attacking, but she did it, just let her go.

She was weak, weak like he used to be. He growled before she could even talk. She’d tell him, she’d tell the ship, she’d make them come for him. She was full of venom and spite for anyone who wasn’t what she considered to be a model for society. He was just a freak, a freak of a troll. A bond, a sacrifice, a poor pathetic little shit whose only use was offering up his body. The knife slid along her throat. He smiled at her as she stared at him in shock, anger. Then came sadness, she didn’t have time to be okay with her death. It wasn’t the same as slowly snuffing it out. But he watched that hope die on shuddering breath. His smile just widened. Watching that would be one little pleasure in his life. The cold around him shuddered.

He grabbed the clothes and quickly put them on. They didn’t quite fit, a little too loose in some places and too tight in others. But that was better than too baggy. He grabbed her other dropped items before he rifled through the other corpse’s pockets, pulling out swordkind. Neither of them suited him and he left the specibi, taking both their captchalogues. He might need shit to barter with for passage or to save his neck from a demanding troll.

He set off back down the hallway; if he had the time he would have dragged them back to his Keeper’s throne room and left them. A dead little treat for them. Two purple blooded trolls in trade for his one. He didn’t have time, he had a lot of ground to cover, and he was bound to run into more trolls. The strife had taken longer then he intended. He should have just snapped her frail little neck, not offered her the false hope of survival.

He was following a ghost trail of breadcrumbs, down to a populated part of the ship. He wondered how any lowblood managed to get this far. Where was it that Sennir was found out? He would have looked for blood stains, but the would have been cleaned. If he was even on this ship. For all he knew, that cell had been pulled from Alternia and put on the ship after the Rebellion of the Young.

There were more trolls about, hidden behind doors. Doing innocuous things, not knowing that the living dead was creeping around their hallways looking just like them. He pulled up the hood, he hid the knife in his pocket, and slowed his jog to a quick walk. A recruit wandering the halls. Nothing suspicious. The hood covered his face in shadow, and kept the metal that laced through his smile concealed. Made sure no one could see telltale lines along his face. The only obvious scar he had was a broken horn. Plenty of trolls got broken horns that weren’t repaired, not many had smiles the crept up towards their ears.

He took his next turn, the hallways empty. His bloodpusher lulled for a moment. He still had a long way to go and he’d save its beats. He worked on catching his breath, listening to the sounds of typing, the sounds of movement in rooms. A door opened in front of him, a sleepy troll, who must have been above a recruit but below any position of power, walked out. He tried to press against the wall and become invisible. He couldn’t kill him without surprise. One rogue sound of alert and the hallways would be flooded. Not that any of the troupe would frown on a little killing. But he didn’t need the attention.

“Novitiate!” the troll hissed in his direction.

He jumped and brought his eyes up to the troll. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?” He wanted to bite his lip to think, not many trolls were missing all their teeth. He resisted the urge and chewed on his tongue instead. He didn’t know where he was, and where he should be.

“Looking around.”

The troll paused, trying to see his face. “Are you doped or something?”

“No.” He couldn’t help the scoff. He was less doped then ever before. “My friend sneaked out and headed this way.” He was risking someone finding the two dead bodies, but it was better than getting some type of disciplinary action. One that might draw the attention of his Keeper, one that might expose his wounds and scars. The cold around him swirled and moved toward the troll. He heard the whisper. His hand clenched around the handle of the knife.

“You want to be punished for being out too?”

“No, I was trying to get him to come back.”

“You sound like you’re lying, and you sound fucked up.” The troll grabbed his once-broken wrist. The cast was off, but the bone still felt odd. He yanked him towards him. “I’m taking you down to the medbay.”

He slowly slid the knife out of his pocket. One of them might notice that a medtech never came back, one of them would notice the scars and wounds. He wasn’t going the fuck back to that cell. The knife was out of his pocket when the lights flickered, then reset, and a loud buzz went off. The troll turned to him quickly and he shoved the knife back in his pocket, stabbing himself just a little bit.

“Your name.”

“What?”

“Give me your name.” That was a good question.

He smiled. “Sennir.” He couldn’t practically give his name.

“Your full name.” Gamzee was pulled close, and he laughed. The alarm was still going off. He pulled the knife from his pocket, pressing his free hand against the troll’s neck. “Fucking traitors on the ship.”

“No, motherfucker, I’m of the blood. I’m a brother, now let me the fuck go.” He had to improvise. He had to escape. He prayed the doors wouldn’t open. He could hear a shuffle in all the rooms. Getting out of recuperacoons, scraping off slime as fast as possible, putting on clothes. He didn’t have time.

“Why won’t you give me your name?”

His fear was easy, he didn’t want to die. “Because I’ve lost it somewhere between Alternia and here. Now let me the fuck go, before you get something a lot worse than a scratch from a knife.” That alarm meant something was loose on the ship. He was something loose on the ship. He had to find the hangar before they found him.

“Killing me won’t give you freedom.” He had a weapon at his side, pressing into fabric.

“No, killing you would be a fun waste of time. But a waste of time. I don’t have enough as it is.” The tip pressed into his stomach. He shivered. “Let me go, and go protect the Empress,” he said with authority.

“Fuck you.”

“Listen, you little shit. You want a name? It’s Makara. Gamzee Makara.” He was going to regret this. But his ancestor and him were linked by blood. Perhaps he could use that sway. The troll’s eyes widened then looked at him with doubt. “I can’t fucking prove it. I was down here doing rounds. My mentor’s orders. Now go protect the motherfucking Empress, get your goddamn contingent together and make sure nothing gets to her. Or do you want to be the motherfucker who let her and the Dyenejar both die?”

“Where are you going then?”

“I’m going to look for whoever or whatever made the alarm sound.” He prayed this would work, he swore he could hear the looming of the growl of his elder. He needed to be moving, where he wouldn’t be tracked. “Get groups together, make sure nothing too bad comes to pass. Now if you motherfucking doubt me, I’ll be on the ship, I ain’t going anywhere. You can ask him about me.” Theoretically, this troll would get a club through the head. If his ancestor was feeling kind. He doubted he would be feeling kind.

“I’ll find and kill you if you’re lying.” _No, you’d be too dead to do it,_ he thought somewhere private in his mind. “Good luck, brother.” The doors were opening. He was watching his precious seconds of freedom disappear. They knew he was gone.

“And to you as well.” He glanced at the pin he wore on his shirt. “Chaos follow your steps,” he said softly, confirming to some degree that he was of the church. The troll’s eyes widened; with a smile, he released his hand and he pulled the knife from his neck. It was enough, enough of a lie, and enough of his manipulation to make him trust him.

“Your patron?” he asked quickly.

“Boetin.” Not his first choice, but approved.

“Torments follow your strike.”

With that, he was off. He smirked, and would ask Sennir, if he had another opportunity, how he got through this maze. He muttered his actual charm, _“Sorrow drown your enemies”_ , as he set off again running through hallways, running into other trolls who were trying to organize as fast as possible.

No one gave him a second look; he was a recruit, half-panicking with the alarm, and trying to do what he was ordered. He disappeared into a hallway after another troll yelled at the recruit he was pretending to be to present himself. He couldn’t get roped into that. He hid in a room, listening to feet go by. He had to slip in with a crowd and do as he was ordered, or it was going to be very obvious just who escaped.

“UA on Bay-14, two bodies found.” He cursed. “They may be in uniform. Ask for ID. Capture. Kill only if necessary.” He growled at the speakers wanting to rip them off the wall, like that would stop anyone from knowing what they just said. His bloodpumper was stuttering in his chest, telling him he was going to get caught. He was going to get locked up again, and that was the least of his worries.

He raised the knife to his neck. He wasn’t going to go back. He couldn’t go back. The blade pressed into the skin; he could feel the tingle of pain, the cold nearly suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe properly. His head was spinning, his legs trembling. The knife sliding around in his sweaty hand. Everything was closing in on him. He started crying, trying to hold the blade but if felt like it was miles away. He was going to go back, he was going to be locked up again.

They’d cut off both his legs at the knees and make him crawl after them. They wouldn’t kill him, that was too kind. He would just be punished then forced to be with them again. A wave of nausea made his head spin and he bumped against the wall, not able to hold himself up anymore. He couldn’t make himself breathe correctly, he couldn’t get his bloodpusher to calm down. The cold moved from him and came back in waves.

He wanted to scream, but someone would hear it. His body was too warm, he was going to live. If he was going to die he’d be okay, but no, he was going to live. The cold washed over him, a direct change from how hot he felt. His bloodbeat was too high and echoing in his head. He was going to pass out, and he couldn’t even fight being dragged back then.

The cold never wavered from its steady pace, trying to calm him. He made his breathing follow its movements; close, inhale, they moved away, exhale. He had to think, he had to keep his wits. He still had a chance. He looked down at the symbol on his chest. Kekten. He could work with that, he just needed a first name. Hopefully, the trolls he ran into didn’t know the girl he stole the uniform from. Hopefully, they didn’t have a register. His bloodpumper picked up its pace again, and the cold around him closed in tightly. He couldn’t freak out, he didn’t have time. He had a name, that would count as ID. He hoped.

He put the knife back in his pocket, and pulled himself up from the ground, wiping his face so it didn’t look like he had been crying. He pulled open the door and went back out to the hall, hiding along the outskirts, until he joined a group. Acting as if he had been there the whole time. Hoping no one noticed how out-of-place he was. His bloodpusher was still thumping nervously against his ribs, telling him at any moment he could end up on the ground hyperventilating again.

Or be pulled from the rabble, held above everyone and humiliated again. Then taken back and thrown on the table. A rusty saw in their hands, and he’d feel every drag of the dull blade as it cut through skin, muscles, tendons, bones, and sinew. Then, while he was still bleeding, he’d be forced to stay on his knees and apologize with every part of his body. The mental images flashed behind his eyes, and he could feel himself shaking.

No, he still had a chance; he looked like them. He could act like them. He was some lowly recruit. No one important. As long as his Keeper or the Hag weren’t out, no one could identify him by his broken horn. His face was well hidden, no one had any reason to suspect he wasn’t meant to be there. That the alarm was for him. He couldn’t take them all on, but he could force them to need to kill him instead of capture him.

He realized following the group was making him backtrack on the ship. He called forth his own sketchy mental map, made sweeps ago. If they carried on this way, they might rejoin with the main hallway he came down, which meant he was going toward capture. He mentally cursed and looked for another group he could slip into, or a place to slink away from this one.

Passing by rooms, every door opened, searched. Looking for him. He couldn’t slip into a room, the doors were kept open and would probably be searched again. Staying still would result in being noticed, which meant he was found; he needed to keep moving. Another group was a better option. They stopped to search what he guessed was a storage or supply room. He followed the other recruits towards the door but didn’t go in right away. They were calling if things were clear, and he couldn’t help the small smile as he searched for himself among the room.

The captain or leader of their group was talking to another decorated mirthmaker. He inched over that way, hoping to catch a snippet of conversation and perhaps enough noise that he could be informed. Obviously they weren’t any closer to finding him, or he’d be taken down already. But they might give him any indication of where his Keeper was, and he could avoid him. The last thing he needed was to get too close, have his horn seen. He just needed to know where he was, and if he was even outside the room.

A recruit said “clear”, and their conversation stopped. The team rounded up and they moved out of the room. He slipped into another passing group, one headed in the opposite direction. Luckily, he could use this chaos to his advantage, no one was doing headcounts. As long as he kept up, walked like he was supposed to be there, no one asked him for ID.

If he got caught again, maybe he could bribe his Keeper with that knowledge. He knew very well how this system was broken, right now he was thankful for it. But that kind of information might save him a few hours on his stomach or back. Maybe save one of his legs. He could beg to keep himself intact enough to kill himself.

The troll next to him looked over. Gamzee could feel his gaze fix on the side of his hood. He tried to act like it wasn’t bothering him. Was there a chance that they had been given a physical description? He should have thought of that before joining onto one of the groups. He cursed himself and the world mentally.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” the troll next to him said in a low tone. He nodded. “I wonder who’s roaming around on the ship. This high of an alarm, I bet it’s some really big criminal. Or maybe some kind of freedom fighter.” Gamzee didn’t let himself laugh, though he wanted to. He shrugged and didn’t even point out mentally that this troll was talking to the escapee.

“Never seen you before.” And he wouldn’t ever again. “What’s your name?”

“Alecto Kekten, you?” He had to make polite, act like he fit in.

“Lomust. Ganmed Lomust.” They shook hands, quickly, both of them pretty sure they weren’t supposed to really be talking. They were supposed to be searching for him. They fell into silence, and he tried to look at this positively. This troll. Lomust, might just be his positive ID. As long as his ancestor didn’t show, there was a fair chance the troll would say he’d been there the whole time, thinking he had. It might be what saved his neck.

They traveled down the hall, back in the general direction of the map; he had a feeling he was in the maze portion that didn’t give any clear directions, and his own mental map was too foggy to be reliable. All he knew for sure was he was heading farther away from his cage. That was all he could hope for.

They traveled deeper into the maze, stopping to check rooms, to look in every crevasse of the ship that he could possibly hide in. Level by level the ship was cleared, and he wondered where he could hide when the alarm was done. He’d have to slip away again, which he could do. But where would he go? Pretend to go to her schoolfeeding? A recruit couldn’t walk around unheeded for too long. Eventually, another troll would ask him what he was doing. And he was fucked if anyone recognized his stolen clothing.

He would worry about that when it came to pass, if it did. They were heading deeper, no doubt in the direction of the hangar; he could slip away. Hide out in one of the tugships, or maybe he could find a AGN ship, that way he’d have some defenses if someone attacked him as he fled. Not that he knew how to fly either of them, but he was pretty sure he could figure it out. Even if they didn’t have a helmsman, they usually had easy start-up processes, at least according to the movies.

Even if that wasn’t the case, he could hide out in a cargo-transport. Whatever ship they went to after dropping off supplies, he could barter there for passage or a little description on how to fly one of the ships. Maybe he’d find some dirtwalkers, and they’d take him to Alternia when they went to pick up the culled grubs. Then again, they might also kill him or turn him in for bounty, given his blood status and the mark on his forearm. He didn’t have enough money to bribe them, it would have to be objects, or his body. Either would do. It wasn’t like they could do anything new to him.

He wondered how close they were to the ships. His memory of getting off the transport after conscription was practically black, and too muddy for him to remember exactly where he had gone. He did remember walking for a long while to meet his ancestor for the first time. He remembered having to ascend in an elevator; he had been taking stairs, so there was no doubt in his mind that at the very least he was closer to the hangar.

One of the trolls asked the leader where they were headed. They needed to check in and report. He hoped that wherever they were headed was somewhere he could slip out, if they had a registry he was done for. Unless he gave his actual name, but that was basically the dumbest idea he had that night. He already made one massive mistake, sending some poor troll up to his death, and no doubt alerting them to somewhere he had been. Lomust grabbed his wrist suddenly. Gamzee shook his hand out of his grip.

“Your report?” He tried not to look, but was drawn to. His ancestor was talking with someone. Air got caught in his throat and his bloodpusher pumped so fast it was a dull hum in his ears. He needed to get away. He looked around quickly. Lomust chattered beside him, he didn’t have time to pay attention. The cold around him shuddered before circling him briefly before scattering.

He didn’t know if he was abandoned or if his kin were trying to find somewhere for him to slink off to. He couldn’t be there when they reported. His ancestor would recognize his broken horn. He felt himself stoop among the crowd. Not the subtlest way to stay hidden, but he didn’t have many choices. His ancestor was familiar with the curve of his horns, the place where it was shattered. His hands had only recently gotten even more familiar.

Gamzee’s stomach rolled in a reminder of how that familiarity was had. If he had any doubts about that, all he had to do was pull back the hood and his metal-laced smile would be enough to give him away. He just woke up from where ever bloodloss and a surgery sent him. He could tell by his elder’s tone he wasn’t happy; Gamzee dreaded the thought of being the only vessel he had to take it out on. He wasn’t angry enough to kill him, in fact he didn’t think anything could convince his Keeper to kill him. His voice was loud enough he could make out the hum of it, but not the words.

He slowed his steps, Lomust and the rest of the group still moving at pace. He slipped to the end of his group, desperately trying to find some place to get away, but unable to keep his eyes off his ancestor. Something cold slid along the right side of his face. He nearly screamed, thinking it was the Hag’s fingertips. A quick glance showed him nothing beside him. Nothing but a darker hallway up further. He swallowed, not moving his eyes from his ancestor’s form, too terrified to actually look away.

As they got closer the words made sense. He vaguely paid attention to the conversation. No one had found hide nor hair of him. His bloodbeat was turning his legs into mush. He only had a couple more steps and he would be out of sight range of his ancestor. He wasn’t breathing and he could feel his lungs starting to burn. His eyes were itching, he was so close to escape. He couldn’t be found, not yet. He wanted to pray, but he was afraid even the slightest whisper of his prayers would alert his ancestor to him.

He had two steps left to go; two long, horrible steps. The troll his ancestor was talking to bowed slightly, and left his presence. His ancestor suddenly stiffened. Gamzee’s heart stopped, his legs started to seize up. His elder’s gaze moved over the recruits, and his vision moved over him. It paused, and their eyes met. Gamzee swore he could see the faintest of smiles. Another troll took his attention, and he slipped into the darkened hallway.

“One moment.” His ancestor’s voice echoed around his thinkpan. Care for his body’s health or not, he broke out to a run. This hallway turned into a maintenance shaft, meant for smaller trolls. He’d never been so happy his sopor addiction made him small. A fact he had heard too many times in jest, now he celebrated that side-effect. There was no way his ancestor could follow him here.

The hallway’s direction kept shifting suddenly. It wasn’t meant to be run through, and he ran into too many walls, the hood pulling back from his face. He was already panting, scrambling through dim corridors, his sides burning. He was getting light-headed. He needed to take a break soon. There was a vent that was dislodged, and he almost went into it, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have held his weight. Plus, he didn’t want to be in anything more confined then he already was. There was relative safety in small places, but the walls felt like they were closing in around him.

His knees gave out and he fell to the floor. Wheezing, he realized he was crying, making breathing even more difficult. He needed to keep moving, he needed to keep going. Faster, farther, he needed out. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t want them to know the path he’d taken in the maze. For all he knew his ancestor was on the other side of the hallway, he’d break down the wall and pull him out.

For his insubordination and escape attempt he’d be thrown to all the priests. Filled up and made to hold it until the next medtech came to cut out his bulge. His body curled on the floor, he was shaking too hard to stand. No amount of mental forcing could make him stop. His body lurched in his attempts to make it do anything.

He heard the softest scuffle of shoes behind him and he said “fuck it” to existing. He pulled himself to his knees and ran his hands into the wall, pulling himself up. The next small space he saw he was going to curl up in until most of this had passed. Until he could breathe. He was light-headed, trying to run and tripping over his own feet. There was a noise behind him. He could see it now, the face of every single priest mockingly staring down at him as they used him for what he was.

He tumbled forward into another t-shaped hallway, turned blindly, and kept going, hands holding on to the walls forcing him to move faster than his feet would allow. There was a noise that echoed around the hallway. He was going to live. He fumbled with the knife in his pocket, his fingers on a vacation and unwilling to grab it, still willing his feet forward. Another noise echoed around closer. A metallic clang on the floor, made his bloodpusher jump. He looked behind him, he couldn’t see anyone yet. It was only a matter of time. Another crossroads, and he quickly picked a direction, his feet working a bit better as he turned and ran headlong into something. His head was still fuzzy when he lifted his eyes. He had enough time to see something golden crash over his head.

He crumpled to the floor, vision swimming. The hood pulled further away from his face. His vision started to sharpen once more when another blow landed on his temple. Time slowed down before his tunnel vision turned into nothingness. He hadn’t accounted that the Empress would be out, he forgot he wasn’t a threat worth keeping her locked up for. He was an idiot, but he had a good run. When he woke up, he still had a claw in the tray. It was time for plan B.


	31. Chapter 31

He vaguely remembered voices. The ones talking around him. His body was moved, but it was dark. He couldn’t see, even when he tried. He remembered the prick of a needle in his arm. How after that he slept. He didn’t dream, he didn’t do anything. Just woke up after an indeterminate amount of time. Water dripping again. Counting minutes until he was found awake.

He fell back asleep, his mouth tasting terrible, when he heard another voice, this one female. It was too muffled to make out the words, but he wondered what the Hag was harping about. A shout woke him, asking what. He forced his eyes closed and stayed asleep. If they wanted him up they’d wake him up. Right now he was content to sleep until they weren’t as focused on watching him.

The door opened, and cold circled around him. He slept longer, harder than he ever had on the floor of his cage. He waited for them to touch him, to wake him. Instead, something dropped beside him. The door clanged closed again.

The dripping shouldn’t have been comforting, but it was. He wanted to apologize to his kin for failing them. He wanted to cry, but he was pretty sure if he started he wouldn’t stop until he drowned. He bet they cleared out of the cage. He was undeserving of their kindness. He had to earn all of that back. He shifted on the floor, his whole body sore.

“Gamzee?” His bloodpusher stopped. Another voice in the cell with him. He opened his eyes, but everything was black. The troll with him could obviously see. He lifted a hand to his face. Gauze covered his eyes, and he would have cried, but he couldn’t. They took them, they pulled out his eyes. That’s the only reason he’d have a bandage. It moved around his mouth. He must have torn the stitches, or one of them did when moving him.

The troll next to him, the one that knew his name, was shuffling in the darkness. “Gamzee, is that you?”

He didn’t know how to respond. He quickly reeled through every threat his ancestor ever made, he thought back to any troll on the ship that might know his name. He didn’t know who this was, but it wasn’t the Hag or the Keeper. It was a soon-to-be kin. He let out a gurgle from his throat.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up. It’s dark in here. I didn’t know if it was you or not.” The voice was familiar. Familiar like dimseason dawns, and terrible voice chats about mixed up feelings. Of playing stupid games that scared everyone but him. Watching stupid videos and screaming. He tried to cry, but couldn’t because his eyes were gone.

Out of all the threats, did it have to be the capture-his-friends one? They didn’t deserve this. He sat up, listening to the shuffling. The room was damp, dirty, and vaguely used. It smelled like blood, and he worried if it was him or his friend bleeding. He pulled a smaller body to him, holding onto his arms tightly, pulling him close. He smelt like ash and mold. Like dirt and blood. His hands roved over short rounded horns. And he started sobbing.

“I’m sorry, bro,” he whispered, holding him tighter. “I’m sorry, I’ll make sure you don’t got to do anything. It’ll be okay, I’ll keep you safe, I’ll protect you.” He curled him in his arms. “You ain’t got to worry, I got you.”

“Uh, Gamzee, what in the ever-loving and unambiguous far reaches of the vast expanse are you muttering about?”

“I-I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have…” He didn’t know how to word it. He should have just dealt with it, gone through with being the fuckpuppet until boredom. He should have thought of his friends before he made any stupid decisions about whether or not he deserved freedom.

“Gamzee, I’m happy to see you and all. But this is a little for- weird, don’t you think?” His hands tightened; he didn’t want to hurt Karkat, but it might be better if he killed him than let his ancestor do it. The thought made him as angry as it depressed him.

He was crying, crying without eyes, he wasn’t even sure how that worked. Pulling Karkat onto his lap. Holding him tight. He had to protect him. If anyone else was there he’d have to protect them too. He could do it. He’d offer every inch of himself to whatever his ancestor’s wishes might be. He’d let him pull out the stitches and he’d get every last inch inside him.

“Are you crying?” Karkat’s hand held on to his shoulder, awkwardly gripping him back.

“Bro, Karkat, we’re gonna die. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have tried. I should have stayed good. They wouldn’t have been coming for you then.” The words just spilled from his mouth. “I don’t really want to know, but is everyone else here? I don’t know how I be protecting you all, but I’ll figure it.” His bloodpusher thundered in his chest. “Oh motherfuck, what are they gonna do to Feferi? Motherfucking fuck. They’re gonna be just as horrible to her. I don’t know if they’ll let me– Fuck.”

“Gamzee?” Karkat sounded nervous, scared. He was scared. His fears circling his thinkpan. Readable and obvious. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s all my fault,” he muttered. Karkat said something, and he couldn’t make out the words. He was just chanting. “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That don’t even matter, I can’t apologize it away. I’m sorry, Karkat, it’s my fault you’re in here with me. I didn’t mean to make you get locked in cages with me. I’m sorry.”

“They said you were out of it, but this is ridiculous,” Karkat sighed, moving his fingers up Gamzee’s neck to brush through his matted hair. “Gamzee, I chose to be here, much to the fucking wrath of everyone else. This was my choice.”

He howled, broken. His ancestor won. He made his friends make a choice, and Karkat was going to be killed. Slowly, while he watched, or was forced to do it himself. He wouldn’t be able to talk. If he tried to console his dying friend his ancestor would make sure he wouldn’t talk the rest of the action. Karkat jumped, then gripped tighter. He was so small, his best brother was tiny. There was no way he could deal with any of the abuse. He’d tear into two pieces. Right through the vertical middle.

“Gamzee, calm the fuck down. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Brother, you don’t know what you be getting into.” He sniffled out words through sobs. “Brother, they’re gonna kill you. They’re gonna make it happen. Brother, I can’t let them kill you. I should protected you. I will, I’ll keep you safe now. I don’t care what they do to me. They can’t have you. Anyone else, is there anyone else here?”

“Gamzee… We’re all here. All of us who skipped out. Equius and Eridan are here too, they fought every step of the way, but they are here too.”

He didn’t know how he was going to protect all of them. He doubted they’d let him save Feferi from anything. She was theirs too, just like he was. They were special to them, their favorite little playthings. Though to get any type of helping his friends to happen he’d have to make up for running. He didn’t know what he could offer.

He would, though; he’d even protect Eridan and Equius, even if they, out of everyone, deserved a little bit of comeuppance for telling him to serve. They could serve, they could see what they told him to do. No, he wasn’t that cruel, he couldn’t let himself become that hardened, that cold and evil. No matter how tempting it was to let them get a taste of it, and then when they looked at him for advice, he could tell him to suck it up and serve. He couldn’t be that empty, that was crossing over into a territory he didn’t want.

He would let himself suffer for them. He would never step out of line again. They found out how to keep him docile. He would always be good now. He would obey every command. He’d let this be his story. How he submitted to save his friends. Not that anyone would know it. Not until there was another kin after he died. Then when they died he could tell his story.

He tried to remember what Laneen said, about how when a troll died their story became yesterday. His desire. His selfish fucking desire to be free impeded on the happiness of others. All of them would suffer now, he could try to protect them, but his Keeper would be even more volatile; every little mistake and one of his friends would pay the price.

Karkat was trying to brush through his hair, his fingers getting tangled in the mats and caked in grime. His other arm wrapped around Gamzee’s shoulders, fingertips stroking between his shoulder-blades, trying to calm his tears. Trying to make him relax and calm down. He had to admire his brother’s dedication, such a cute little thing. He knew Karkat could fight, but he seemed so weak. He wasn’t prepared for what was coming his way.

“Gamzee, what’s wrong? What’s going on in your rotted out thinkpan? You’re okay, I promise. This isn’t your fault.” His body was trying to unwind in the touch. He craved it desperately, he wanted nothing more than for it to continue. Even if it made him nauseous, and he was afraid Karkat’s claws were going to rip into him.

The touch didn’t stop, and he could feel a cold sweat shudder across his skin. He pulled away from his brother. No matter how much he wanted the touch, it was going to make it worse when his ancestor touched him again. Also, it was making him sick; he moved away, and crawled over to a corner pressing his forehead into the wall, trying to cool down. He couldn’t even feel it through the gauze.

“Gamzee, fucking talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“We’re all gonna die.” He gagged. “We’re all gonna die here. There ain’t no way to get out. They prolly have changed it. I shouldn’t have tried to get away. I should have stayed in place, maybe been telling you of a warning, but made to keep in my place. Then all of you would be safe. They would have been done with me eventually.” Karkat’s fingers slid along his back and he gagged again, pulling away from the touch.

“Gam–”

“This is my fucking fault. I should have just fucking taken it. He was fucking right, pathetic and weak. I couldn’t even be strong for my friends. I’m sorry, I should have just let them kill me and you could have kept going on with your life. It would have fucking been okay, I had somewhere I knew to go when I up and died. You could have lived long enough to have some motherfucking form of life. Fucking pathetic.”

“Gamzee, what the fuck are you talking about? You’re actually starting to freak me out. Make some god damn sense. I know it’s likely a task for you to do it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you string three coherent sentences together. Start making some semblance of sense, because right now you’re just stringing verbs, nouns, and breaths together and hoping for the best. Or I’m going to think you’re way out of the deep end and swimming with mass of terrifying tentacles under the sea.”

“I didn’t mean to get you.” Karkat didn’t stop touching him, and he shuddered, his muscles spasming, and he couldn’t stop himself from gagging hard enough that his last meal forced its way to his mouth and some on to the floor before he swallowed it again.

“Are you sick? Like delusional with fever or something…” He didn’t think he was. Another touch and his body shuddered under cold sweat.

“No, I ain’t sick.” He was trembling. “I don’t feel like I am… I’m sorry Karkat, I don’t want you all trapped in here with me.” He rested his forehead against the wall. He couldn’t even feel how cold it might be through the bandages, no matter how desperately he wanted to. His body was shaking. He wanted to call for his ancestor and get their meeting over with.

All his friends would have to watch, but it was better than him having to watch it happen to them. He wondered how much his ancestor would make them watch. If he’d make Gamzee kill his friends. Or if he’d just kill them. Then throw them back into the cell with him, until he got so hungry he woke up covered in blood from eating them. He gagged again, slamming his head against the wall hard enough his head thudded from the impact.

“Is this crazy clown bullshit or actual bullshit?” He slammed his head against the wall again, feeling sicker then before. Karkat grabbed onto his shoulders and yanked him back. “Gamzee, are you trying to fuck with me or something? Because you are freaking me out… It isn’t funny if you are.” He yanked himself forward, hitting his head against the wall again. “You didn’t make this happen.” Karkat’s voice was softer, but desperate.

“But I did, brother,” he growled, his throat aching. “I tried to escape to all have surviving. I was tired of being shut up and stuck in cages. I shoulda just warned you about them. I should have gone back, locked myself back up, and just served. Been doing what I been made to do. I should have up and listened to all of everyone. Just been a good boy. Fuck, why did I try to think running would have even worked? He all up and always knows where I be, he made sure he knows how I work. I should have known he woulda brought me back, I shoulda gone back and you all be safe and normal. You could have forgotten about me and there would be nothing else.” He was about to ramble on again.

“Gamzee!” Karkat almost yelled it, knocking him out of the repetition of self-blame and apologies. “Not that it’s strange, but you’re not making any coherent sense. You are actually making less sense than usual. I don’t honestly know if you’re fucking with me, or if this is a legitimate thing.” Karkat took a breath.

“But whatever it is, perhaps you can open up your hearsponges for a moment and not zone out or lose yourself to whatever your distraction is this time. I don’t know if you remember that whole conversation we had before conscription. But no one was going to be left alone. Equius and Eridan were pulled off two other ships, brought here. We are a team, Gamzee, and we’ve got somewhere safe-ish to stay. It took us three months to get you because a subjuggulator stronghold is kind of a scary as fuck thing.

“I don’t know if you knew, but where you went was frond-fondling terrifying. I’m sorry it took so long. But my… followers, I guess, went out, broke in, set off a goddamn alarm, had to slink around the ship, and got you. Of course then they were all skullnumbing morons and painted my sigil, which happens to be some religious symbol, on the wall. In bright fucking red. Which is a new level of stupid I haven’t seen before, but now have to deal with for all eternity.

“But they pulled you out. At least they thought it was you, they said you were pretty beat up, not making any sense, and not wearing your sign.” Gamzee had gone quiet while listening, and now was crying harder. “They didn’t actually know if it was you. So they kept you sedated, after they beat you over the head. Which seems like a lethal combination if you hadn’t slacked off your higher powers of reasoning sweeps ago. But they don’t really trust you, or me because I have friends so high on the hemospectrum. They got stupid before when I told them your sign, they told me it was a suicide mission to rescue you. Something about the Grand Highblood, which seemed like a fucking excuse if you ask me.” Gamzee was shaking, his temple pressed against the wall.

“I didn’t care, I didn’t want you there. Since you lost the ability to type, or perhaps read - which I could only assume meant you were either dead or now so stoned you forgot how to move your fingers - we had to wait, and Equius and Eridan both said they talked to you, and it was unlikely you died. Then I sent out the mission, suicide or not.

“We, all of us, have something we need to change and talk about. They’re assholes to Feferi too, which is pretty fucking dumb. She wouldn’t kill something without prompting. She’d rather just treat it kindly. It’s just fucking hemoism and bloodhate in the reverse. Are you fucking crying? Why are you crying? This isn’t anything to cry over. I don’t know what the fuck their blunt head trauma did to you. But, Gamzee, why are you sobbing like this is terrible?”

He couldn’t stop himself. This could be a trick, this could be something Karkat was told to tell him or someone was going to end up dead. This could be so many other things other than freedom. He reached behind him, grabbing Karkat’s hand, curling his fingers tightly around the warm little troll’s.

“Karkat.” He squeezed his warm fingers. “Where am I?”

Karkat sighed. Gamzee could almost feel the look of disbelief. “Where the fuck do you think you are? The magical head-trauma-is-not-good-for-sopor-addicts-farm? Or Shan-fucking-gri La? Or wherever the fuck you think you end up when you die? You’re on Alternia - you know, the planet you left three months ago, that I swore I would get you back to once we found some place to make base and get Feferi trained so she could challenge the Empress.” He sighed, frustrated.

“I told you not to go to conscription. I told you that we needed to stick together. That it would be a pain in the ass to get you back from a ship. Just so you know, subjugglators are kind of really good at keeping lowbloods in line. They are also so massive it’s ridiculous and terrifying, and no one was looking forward to going and getting you.

“I also remember telling you - that is, if you were paying any attention to me and not spacing out or rambling on about bullshit to the ocean - that we would come and get any of you who went to conscription. We’re a team, and none of us really want Feferi dead, and she’d be a pretty good Empress. Not that the Condescension is too terrible or anything, it’s just I don’t really feel like dying.” He laughed, a hollow humorless laugh that tapered off into empty silence. All but the dripping.

This had to be a trick, this had to be a joke, this couldn’t be true. There was no way he was on Alternia, there was no way he was free. This was a trick and he’d call them out on it. He wasn’t gullible anymore. He wouldn’t let his friends be used against him like this. His ancestor might be good at playing games, and circling him now, waiting to pick his bones clean. But he couldn’t have his friends.

He’d give his Keeper his mind, his body, his very fucking soul. But he couldn’t have his friends. He couldn’t use them to paint. He couldn’t add it to the floor or the walls, if anyone got that blood he would. Once he knew that they weren’t being watched, he’d have to kill Karkat. His claws were still ragged, it would be a task. But he’d break his neck, then drain him of his blood. Down the drain in the corner.

It was his, it couldn’t be theirs.

“Gamzee?” His name shocked him back to the cage. “Are you alive? Did my news kill you or something? I can’t even hear you breathe. I’m just taking this thing off. I don’t think you’re going to attack me, you’re harmless.” He’d let his brother believe that. He felt the thing on his face be grabbed.

“Bro, I want to see it.”

Karkat paused, still holding the thing that covered Gamzee’s face. “What?”

“I want to see outside. I want to see Alternia.”

Karkat was silent for a long moment. Waiting for help, waiting to lie. Gamzee’s bloodpusher dropped into his stomach. It was stupid of him to hope anyway.

“It’s almost sunrise… Don’t you think that’s a little risky?”

He wanted to laugh, such an easy lie. He could be dissuaded, the sun was pain. Wouldn’t he want to avoid any more pain? His fingers curled around Karkat’s shoulders yanking him close. “I don’t care,” he whispered into his friends ear. He felt Karkat shudder. He paused for breath. “Take me the motherfuck outside,” he nearly shouted. Karkat winced at the volume change. His throat was stinging, but he didn’t care; he wouldn’t let all of them be played. Not like this. Karkat’s bloodpusher was pounding, he was scared. It was beautiful how it so easily laced around him.

“Fine, one second.” Karkat pulled out of his grasp, slowly. Scared he might anger him, or would be found out. He wondered what he was going to do to show him the outside. He let Karkat go; he hadn’t fully called them out, Karkat was safe until he did.

The troll stood up and walked through the room. A door swung open and closed behind him. They’d be busy with conversation. He crept forward, careful not to make any noise. He crawled in the general direction Karkat walked, hoping he could overhear the story they were concocting for his best-friend to tell him. Maybe even the threat they’d give him. The more information he had the better.

“We lost three trolls trying to get him.” He didn’t recognize that voice, was he in the cells? It would make sense, his ancestor did promise he’d give all the priests a turn with him before he was taken back into his care. “He might try to communicate back. Do you want to risk them coming here for us? How many lives would be lost for his comfort?” Gamzee raised an eyebrow.

“You fucking did this to him. He’s lost his mind.”

“Think about what he is, he never had it in the first place.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know him.”

“I know his kind.”

“Exactly, you don’t know him. I know your kind, but I didn’t judge you on that.”

“It’s better if we surprise them with a frontal attack, not them coming to us. Catching us unaware.”

This conversation didn’t make any sense, did they know he was listening in on it? Making the charade fuller. Somehow giving Karkat clues as to what he was supposed to tell him or do. Maybe they had it written and he was forced to act along with it.

“I don’t like this compromise, but maybe I can cuff him. Make sure his hands can’t do anything that might make them find us, and we’ll keep the hood on until he is outside so he doesn’t know where we are if he is going to send information back.”

“This is going to get us killed.”

“He’s my friend. He’s delusional, and maybe seeing the land would help him get his head on right.”

“You should have made better friends.” Karkat growled. “Sorry if I’ve offended, but you’re still very young.”

“I told you how to get him out, if you had stuck to the plan you might not have lost anyone.” He touched the wall above him and beside him. There was no way they could see. Unless there were cameras and they could see him that way. Either that or he was as predictable as his ancestor.

“Fine, keep him chained up and blind. When this comes back to bite you in the ass, don’t whine at me.” There was a shuffle and he could hear metal clang against itself.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He quickly crawled back to the other side of the room, or what he thought was the other side. It was better if they couldn’t see him, and that was a ruse, that he looked like he hadn’t moved much. The door opened again, and Karkat shuffled to him, metal occasionally hitting itself as it swayed in his grip.

“I’m sorry about this, Gamzee. Can I have your hands?” He offered them with no resistance. He had to protect Karkat. The metal curled around his wrists, holding them in place. A chain connected them, and another section wrapped around his ankles. It would be slow to walk, but that didn’t matter, they had all the time in the world.

“I have to keep the hood on you, they don’t want you to know where you’re going.” Of course they didn’t, he almost escaped once. And once his friends were dead, he’d really have nothing at all to lose. Maybe he’d just go from room to room like death and take every life he found curled up in peaceful dreams. Just kill them all. It was a lovely thought, and by then he might be stronger, sort of pupated (although his ancestor swore he wouldn’t let that happen, but this was his fantasy); he could just be their reckoning.

“Gamzee, I’m going to grab Kanaya. She can withstand the sun, so just in case something bad happens she can drag our injured corpses to some shade, okay? So when we’re walking, we’re going to pause, and then I’m going to get her, then we’ll carry on. Okay?” Gamzee nodded. He didn’t know why that would be part of the plan, but then again he hadn’t connected all those silly little touches as leading to whatever had transpired between him and his ancestor.

Karkat helped him to his feet and they walked out of the cell, his eyes still covered and everything dark. There was an unnatural silence around the chamber, one of trolls being quiet but around. Karkat ushered him forward, getting him away from the staring trolls.

“Why aren’t you wearing your sigil, and why do you have that one on?” Gamzee didn’t respond that he would be wearing his sign for the rest of his life, whether or not he wanted to. He’d be wearing Feferi’s as well. But that was tucked under the hood that covered the whole of his head. “Are you not going to talk to me?” Karkat asked, after the silence became too long. “Did I piss you off or something, is this the cold shoulder? Were you happy on the ship or something, and you didn’t want to come back?”

Still he didn’t talk, he didn’t want anything he might say to be used against his best friend. Once he had more information about their game, he’d play. He wasn’t going to blindly crash into these games again, he had some practice now. He wasn’t going to get trapped in to saying something that he meant but didn’t want them to know.

The phrase “three months” echoed around his head. He knew one month he had spent being slowly groomed for torture by his ancestor. He had overheard that conversation with the Hag. Then two months of being locked in the closet and cage. How had he survived? He didn’t drink enough water to make it possible. Then again, his hair was ripped out in clumps. He didn’t remember doing that either.

Maybe he spent days under that drip, trying to get water into his system. How long had he been knocked out and stitched? He came back and his wounds were more healed, but not healed entirely. From that first night he was bent over the desk until now, how did he spend his time? It could have felt that long. They could be fucking with his perception of time now. Karkat went silent, no longer trying to get him to speak.

He only spoke to tell him to stay. He vaguely heard Karkat talking with Kanaya. He could have been walking in circles, and she was in the cell next to his. Karkat walked back and retook the chains, leading him on.

“Gamzee?” she asked. “Is that you?”

“He’s suddenly become mute,” Karkat said bitterly. “But it is him.”

“I was concerned that they grabbed the wrong troll when they said he was not wearing his sign.”

There were two trolls he had to protect, and Karkat might not have been lying. If it was all of them, all eleven of them, he had his work cut out for him. He let his mind drift with his steps to how he would give himself up to save them. It was a maze, one they seemed to know decently well, but they could be walking in circles for all he knew. Or there could be a priest in front of them leading them to their destination.

His mind focused on the mission of protecting them, and somehow convincing his bloodlinks to not hurt Feferi like they did him. Their wriggler or not, they only needed the one… Unless they wanted to reenact their greatest moment with little clones of actors. He felt sick at that thought. It wasn’t like Feferi wasn’t pleasant to look at, she just never was someone he pitied in any way, shape, or form.

He swore he could hear the faintest noises of nature, and he tried to quash any hope he might had. It would only hurt when he was disappointed. They were walking up an incline, and for some reason he imagined himself walking into the tents, some prerecorded nature noises playing, the priests covering their mouths to hold their sniggers. Then the shackles would come off, and then the hood. He’d be slammed onto the platform and each inch of him would be used, and his ancestor would wrap his fingers around Karkat and Kanaya’s shoulders holding them back. Whispering at them to watch. This is what a pail does. He was shaking. Kanaya ran her fingers along his forearm. Karkat batted her hand away.

“I think we can take the shackles off,” he said quickly, as if to cover the fact he just batted her hand away. “We’re the only ones up here.”

“I do not think he would be inclined to run.” Metal fell off Gamzee’s wrists and ankles. He waited for the hood to be ripped off, and him to be slammed down. The noises weren’t too loud and he’d have to commend his ancestor for being skilled at this level of masquerading the truth. Maybe appeasing his ego would win him points to save his friends.

“Gamzee?” Karkat was nervous. “Are you okay?” He hadn’t moved since they pulled off the shackles. “You know you can walk around, right? Or talk, or even maybe breathe loud enough it doesn’t feel like there is a corpse walking with us.”

He wanted to tell Karkat he’d be okay as long as they stayed okay, just shut their eyes. It would be over soon. Better to be proactive. He felt the air beside him move, perhaps to pull off the hood. Instead, he walked forward, going to meet the troupe. The most active pail in all of the Alternian Empire. Maybe he’d find a troll who’d eventually take kindly to using him and help convince his ancestor to use him less.

He lifted his hands to the hood, ready for the darkness, the splashes of colors from other victims, the faces of all the trolls he’d have to please before his ancestor let up. He closed his eyes and, although he couldn’t fully pray to his spirit - it would be near-heresy if he did - he hoped she would bless his actions. She would keep his soul; possessive as she was, he doubted she’d bat an eye at taking on his tarnished one.

He pulled off the hood.

He opened his eyes to grass, forests, and in the distance he could hear a river. He was bathed in the light of a moon, the other one already set. It was close to dawn. He stayed frozen for a long moment. Staring, looking around the area, shocked. His bloodpusher jumping into his throat. He fell to his knees slowly, his throat seizing. Shock as he looked over the land, no. No. There was a trick. There had to be a trick. He was crying again. They couldn’t recreate Alternia, not the smells, the sounds, the light. The particular shadows of it being so close to dawn…

He was free, he was out, he got out. He survived. He was out. Out. Free. He tore off the gloves that covered his fingers, and raked his stubby nails through the dirt. It was turning cold, waiting for the sun to bake it down and warm it once more. They couldn’t make it be that temperature, not that quickly. He strained his fingers through the dirt; it was like clay, not like the sand he was used to or wanted. But it was beautiful and perfect.

He was laughing now, clawing through grass, digging into the dirt, trying to find where it ended and pain would begin again. But it didn’t, just more and more dirt. Trees with pink leaves, and a gentle breeze that carried the sound of the forest not far from them. The smell of late second autumn, the way the animals were swapping between those that roamed the day and those that ruled the night.

He howled to the heavens, he was sure every spirit could hear it. Surpassing every plain of their existence, a howl for his freedom, a scream for the pain he’d been put through, laughter for his location, and tears because he was happy. He wanted to thank them for answering his prayers; they had made sure he survived, they granted him luck. His voice didn’t stop making noises, and he ran his fingers through blades of wild grasses, across weeds meant to irritate the skin. It didn’t matter, it was real, it was something he never thought he’d have again.

He wanted to throw himself on the ground and never get up, he waned to watch the sun rise - not all of it, but most of it. He wanted to see beaches. He had been promised he’d see beaches again. He’d smell salt water. He would be home. Maybe when the sun set he’d travel in that direction, seeing beaches once more, though his hive was already gone and he lost the last of his wriggerhood relics. It wasn’t his hive or his stuff he wanted to see. It was the location. Maybe if he shouted, his lusus, that couldn’t travel, would actually come to his voice and he could wrap his arms around him once more.

He yanked up his sleeves. He didn’t want to rub his face in the dirt, that might irritate the wounds he was still healing there. But he wanted to feel it on him. He could have a shower, and water, and food, and he could talk without fear that his words would be turned against him. He rubbed the dirt on his forearms, tempted to strip down and just roll around on the ground. He didn’t care if he got any dirtier.

“Gamzee?” Both of his friends said almost in unison as he put the cool dirt over his arms. He shifted and tore off his boots, wiggling his toes in the dirt, laughing harder at the thought. He was on Alternia, he made it away from them. He survived, he escaped. He had done what he promised his kin. Maybe they came with him and all of them were settling on Alternia far enough away their Keeper’s call would be avoided.

There was worry in the pit of his stomach about how they would come for him, and all his friends. But he could take the few precious minutes until the sun rose to revel in the fact he wasn’t cooped up in the ship any more. He yanked himself up to his feet and ran towards the woods. There was a curse behind him. He could hear steps following him.

It didn’t matter, this was too complex, this couldn’t be a game. He was free, he wanted to run, to feel real wind in his hair. To actually be free. If he didn’t want to hide the vast majority of his bruised state from his friends he would have stripped down to nothing and found the river and jumped into it. Maybe he’d do that anyway. He could choose whatever he wanted to do. He ran past the trees, steps still following him. He yanked off layers of clothes that weren’t his and abandoned them on the ground.

“Gamzee, what in the name of whatever you believe in are you fucking doing?!”

“Gamzee, please come back here at once, and once again dress yourself!”

He’d obey in a moment. He wanted to go swimming. Or more just jump into the water and let himself attempt to float, maybe not get somewhere too deep. He wanted to feel the water. He wanted to feel clean. He could have his freedom, and he would rejoice in it until reality had to be paid attention to and he had to escape. His ancestor would look for him. He would come and torment his friends for answers.

He’d make sure he got his bond back. He wasn’t the type to let go, and in its own way he humiliated his elder. He escaped. He knew that his ancestor would want revenge for that embarrassment. He’d deal with that when the sun rose and he couldn’t be outside anymore. He followed the noise to the water, and with a final kick his pants were off and he jumped in.

Everything was cold, runoff from the highlands down to his oasis. It felt like paradise against his skin, plants at the bottom tickled his feet in a way that didn’t remind him of pain. He closed his eyes and let himself sink under the water. It encircled him, cleaned him, offered him a sense of purity he hadn’t had in ages.

When he had to deal with his ancestor, he’d have to think about how he felt. He had to finally face all those thoughts he had been avoiding for two months. He could do it, but he didn’t want to. He’d have to explain that his ancestor knew where they were already. The only thing that was keeping them safe was his submission, which he let go of when he ran off, and they sacrificed when they pulled him off the ship.

He’d deal with that when he was clean. He kicked up from the bottom and forced himself to the top, paddling his arms in some mockery of swimming towards where his toes could reach the bottom. His nose barely above the water. He wasn’t ready to leave its freezing embrace just yet. Karkat and Kanaya were standing on the shore, Kanaya holding on to the clothes he discarded.

“Gamzee?” Kanaya sounded panicked. “Gamzee, you’re bleeding.” He looked around the water. There was purple staining it. He had a feeling it wasn’t his blood, or blood anyway. He was sure if he looked closer there would have been magenta in it as well. He didn’t lift his head to correct her, it would be better if they thought it was blood. Maybe he’d just tell them he made a few enemies. That’s how he got his scars. He’d keep every script one hidden and they wouldn’t have to know the truth.

“You look like some type of river beast,” Karkat said, still looking worried, but his voice lighter. Kanaya set the clothes on the ground beside her, grabbing her tube of lipstick, watching the wilderness. “Come out of there, the sun is going to come up any minute now. And there are some vicious beasts that roam these woods.”

Gamzee smiled, water getting into his mouth. He pulled himself up so he could spit it out. Forgetful. Both his friends’ eyes widened, and he quickly shoved his head back under water. He forgot he was a monster now; he was still happy for his freedom, but he forgot he had changed. That he was a freak now. Karkat damned his clothes to wetness and jumped into the river with him, paddling towards him. Gamzee brought his hands out to hold him up, but keep everything below his nose underwater. He couldn’t look at his best friend. He tried to ignore his weight and the fact they were touching, the water made it easier.

“Gamzee, what happened to your face?” He exhaled, the water bubbling around him. Karkat looked over his head; the broken horn, the bruise still around his eye. The scar over it from where his bone was or had been broken. It was stupid of him to strip down. But if felt so good to be clean.

Karkat’s hand went under his chin and pushed his head up. Out of the water. The tip of the stitches peeking out over the surface. He refused to let himself be moved any more than that. Karkat lifted his hands and touched along Gamzee’s mouth. He winced, trying to pull away. His best friend’s face turned white with the touch. Gamzee’s cheeks gave in willingly as his teeth weren’t there to stop it.

“Kanaya!” he said, his voice strangled. She dived into the water, coming to his side, treading water better then the both of them. “I don’t know what, I, he. His, and, it.” Gamzee pulled his head away from the both of them, slowly letting go of Karkat. He turned around to hide his face, he shouldn’t have been so forgetful.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” he muttered. “It won’t happen again, you don’t have to look at it.. I’ll keep my hood on.”

“What happened?” Kanaya asked softly, swimming out so she could hold his shoulder. “Gamzee, please, tell us what happened.” He shook his head, he didn’t want to talk about it. He shrugged off her hand and moved deeper into the water, where they would have difficulty touching him and he had to bob to stay afloat.

“We should go back inside… Sun’ll be up soon,” he said slowly.

“Gamzee!” Karkat almost shouted. He shook his head again.

“Go to shore, head back. I’ll join up with you soon. I ain’t going to run away. I got to tell you some things first.” Then he’d go, he didn’t want them to see the disgusting twisted thing he was. There was a pause, neither of them moving more than necessary to keep themselves afloat. “Go,” he growled, his voice terrifying him. He wrapped his hands around his stomach. Chanting “no” in his head. He couldn’t sound like that.

Kanaya jumped. The water behind him displaced, he scared both of them. “Leave. I’ll meet you back there. Go.” Rage shuddered along him and angled towards his friends. He pulled it back as fast as possible, but he was sure they felt the stabbing in their heart for the briefest moment. Terror laced easily with the pitch and timbre of his voice. He wanted to cry and tear off his horns for even acting a little bit like that.

The water behind him splashed and he heard them pull themselves out of the water. He waited, and heard feet on grass, and he hoped they’d listen. He turned cautiously; neither of them were too close, he walked on his toes back to the shore. Wanting to clean himself off, but that would have to wait. He didn’t think, so now he had to deal with the consequences. Didn’t he learn this lesson already? His wrist throbbed as a dull reminder that he had, indeed, learned that before.

He pulled himself up, grabbing his stolen clothes. He put them on layer by layer, leaving the jacket for last. He sat on the ground and looked up; the sky was starting to turn pale, light coming up over the horizon. He didn’t want to talk about it, and maybe he’d just lie. He made some enemies, this was done to him in retaliation, they didn’t need to know about that. Just know that his ancestor was alive, and… liked him… And he would want him back. He cursed, there was no easy way to tell them without telling them. He could just sit here until the sun rose and he baked under its heat.

He looked down at his arm and traced over his link to his ancestor. Tracing over each letter. He didn’t want to talk about what happened. He wanted to forget about it, he was free now. Just warn them that they should get off Alternia. They didn’t have to take him, he could stay here and stay hidden. They wouldn’t want him anyway, he was a monster and doomed to turn into one as he grew older. He already had all the signs of turning into one. He traced the letters over and over until the dull tingling turned into numbness.

It was funny; for all the wanting he did for freedom, it was easier when he was in cages. It was a fact then. Something that he didn’t have to explain. Now he had to explain it, he had to tell someone how weak he was. That he should have been killed. That aside from being a deserter, he was a criminal long before they rescued him. He bit the metal in his mouth the best he could, tracing over letters once more. He sighed and stood. Walking back through the forest, walking back to the caves. Going to where he would have to explain this, explain his injuries.

He looked over the field that separated forest from hills and the entrance to caves. The sky, where the sun was about to peek over the edge, was a brilliant red. When the sun rose he had to deal with his ancestor. He looked over the sky, how it went from red, violet, purple to blue. The clouds in the sky stricken with yellow and pink. He took in the scene, how all the colors just existed among each other. Not caring where they were. He touched the brand on his arm again. He couldn’t, he couldn’t do this.

He sat on the ground, his fingers moving to the back of his neck, where he could feel the scabs from their carved signs. He traced over them, thinking about what he’d say. He didn’t know what he would mention, or what he’d keep out. Every second the sun forced away the night was a second closer to him speaking. He didn’t want to, he wanted to just vanish. Be alone, not talk or be touched, or think. He just wanted to sit on the beaches, and build shitty sandhives. He wanted to curl up under a ledge, in the dark enough the sun didn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t confined.

He looked at the entrance to the caves, and back to the sunrise which was slowly peeking out from the horizon, every survival instinct he had telling him to find cover. He had to tell them they needed to leave Alternia, that his ancestor was well aware that their little rebel group was here. That he had a special force ready to deal with shit like that.

That he would be angry, embarrassed, and annoyed. He would take it out on every one of them. He knew their names, their colors, their signs. That they shouldn’t try to attack because that really was suicide. He had information that could save them. He just didn’t want to talk. Maybe he’d broach it that way. _“Don’t ask how I know these things, just accept them.”_ He watched the sun rise a little longer, before he stood on shaking legs, finger dragging along rocks before he put his hood on again. Hiding his face, he looked back to the sky once more before letting himself be swallowed up by the cave. It would be a long time before he had peace again. _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As I said at the beginning of Reprise this story is the prologue to Hivefled and perhaps you do what to see it, so to save you clicks. [Here's the link again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/582582/chapters/1046167). If you have any questions, or want to know mores, or want to tell me if I did a terrible job. [The tumblr account](http://hivefled.tumblr.com) is open to any of your questions, comments, or concerns. Both authors also post up art related to this story and Hivefled on there too.
> 
> I do certainly hope you enjoyed Reprise, as much as it can be enjoyed. I hope to see all of you over at Hivefled. Thank you once more for reading.


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